


Guarding the Dragon

by PotionChemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-11-26 05:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 68,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20924795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotionChemist/pseuds/PotionChemist
Summary: Ten years after the war, Draco Malfoy is playing Seeker for England and his life is threatened during the World Cup. Hermione Granger is assigned to be his personal security since she hates Quidditch and, well, Malfoy. Nothing could go wrong, right?





	1. Chapter One - Hermione

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StassA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StassA/gifts).

> For my wonderful reader, StassA!
> 
> Thank you for raising the hard questions for The Memory of You when we chatted about it and checking in on me to make sure I'm not working myself to death! I'm so glad you found me on Tumblr!
> 
> Guys, this is my first attempt at fluff/humor. Please give me some feedback because I'd like to improve! I don't have an update schedule for this story. I'm hoping it's short, but I get wordy, so you never know. I'm on vacation for most of October, so hopefully I'll be able to finish it up quickly. 
> 
> Thank you to HollyBrianne and Courtney for looking this over quickly. Since this is a totally fun piece, I'm throwing it out there unbeta'd! All mistakes are mine! =)

You’ve all heard of Draco Malfoy, right? Platinum blond adonis, sex god, Slytherin prince? Former Death Eater? Any of this ringing a bell?

Well, let me tell you, the fantasy of him can’t compare to the reality. I’ve heard that there are stories written about him all over the internet, linking him with men and women alike — even linking him with me or Harry! Some crazy person decided that it would be fun to write Harry’s story into children’s books for Muggles, and the Muggles see him as some kind of tortured bad boy who had no choice… I mean, I don’t disagree with their personification of Malfoy, but I can’t see Harry and Draco shagging in any universe, nevermind my real one! And me with Draco — the idea is just as laughable. How they manage to make me fall in love with my childhood bully over and over again, I have no idea.

But I digress. In person, the actual Malfoy… Merlin… he’s so fucking gorgeous. He smiles and women anywhere in his vicinity swoon. Except for me. Instead of swooning, I get overwhelmed with the desire to punch his perfect face again. I don’t know if it’s our shared past, the knowledge that he’s way out of my league and a total manwhore, or what. I just don’t find myself attracted to him at all.

Somehow, the fact that I hate Quidditch and don’t want to jump his bones made me qualified to be his traveling companion and personal security for the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Yes, that’s right — on top of being physical perfection, he’s also a professional Quidditch player. Apparently, Harry had just been his Achilles’ heel at Hogwarts; he never lost a match that wasn’t against his archnemesis. Malfoy plays Seeker for England and, although he’s been forgiven by the vast majority of witches and wizards in our home country, the rest of the world doesn’t know his whole story. Several groups have made threats against him, saying that a former Death Eater shouldn’t be celebrated as a professional athlete.

This is where I come in. I work for the DMLE as a security expert, and I’ve been loaned out to ensure Malfoy is safe while abroad. 

Much to my surprise, I’m dispatched to a flat in Muggle London to pick him up. I had been preparing myself to head to Malfoy Manor, and I’m so relieved I won’t be falling to pieces in front of my new charge. I don’t need to be a shattered pile of post-traumatic emotions when Malfoy sees me for the first time. That definitely wouldn’t bolster his opinion of me. 

The doorman of the building guides me to the lift and informs me that Mr. Malfoy lives in the penthouse.  _ Of course he does. Where else would Draco Malfoy live? _ He taps his wand in an intricate pattern on the controls before stepping out, sending me to the very top of the building.

When the lift doors open, I find myself in a modern flat, complete with large windows and minimalist decor. Glancing around, I notice that there are no photos or any type of personalization — not even a single speck of Slytherin green anywhere. In fact, the penthouse is sleek and modern, everything shiny and new as opposed to the ornate and historical decor that had been present in Malfoy Manor all those years ago. 

A house-elf pops into view and greets me. “Ms. Granger! Master Draco is almost ready. He is just finishing up with his shower. Please sits on the couch and make yourself comfortable!”

I smile at the little creature. “Thank you. What’s your name?”

“Doll!” she squeaks. “My name is Doll!”

Well, that’s certainly unexpected. Malfoy named his house-elf Doll?

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Doll. I’ll just wait for Draco, then,” I reply.

With a smile, she bustles off, returning a few minutes later with a tea service for me. Although I’m not hungry or interested in tea, I prepare a cup and nibble on a biscuit, not wanting to offend Doll. 

While I’m lost in my own thoughts, Malfoy enters the room. “Granger,” he drawls, his silver eyes settling on me. “I hear you’re here to guard my body.”

I look up and I’m met with a very different Draco Malfoy than I’m used to. When we were at Hogwarts, Malfoy was always dressed formally. It didn’t matter if it was a weekday or a weekend; he wore an Oxford and slacks at the very least. Usually, he wore a suit jacket when he was not in his school robes. The man before me — and yes, Draco Malfoy had definitely turned into a  _ man _ — is wearing a pair of dark jeans and a tight-fitting white t-shirt. His skin is a bit darker than it was in school, but his hair is the same bright blond shade.

But the t-shirt he’s wearing? Sweet Salazar. It should be illegal to make a plain white t-shirt look that good. Trying to be discreet, my eyes roam up his forearms to the place where the edge of the short sleeve hugs his bicep. From there, I quickly examine his torso. It’s clear that he’s quite fit, which I already knew from the photos I’ve seen of him in magazines and newspapers. Somehow, he looks so much better in person. I barely even notice his Dark Mark. Like the memories and scars from the war, it’s faded with time, but it’s still present. 

After what probably seems like forever, I meet his eyes. Have I really never noticed how startlingly silver they are until now? They’re absolutely gorgeous.

“Granger,” he says, sounding just as bored as he had at age fifteen. “I’m pretty sure you’ve seen me before. If you’re not careful, I might think that you’re checking me out.”

I clear my throat. “Definitely not checking you out, Malfoy. I just didn’t expect to see you wearing Muggle clothes. It caught me off guard.”

Objectively, he’s physical perfection, everything a hot-blooded twenty-something female should want in a partner. Despite the ogling I’ve just done, my pulse isn’t racing and my knickers are still dry. I’m still not attracted to him in the least bit, which makes this job so much easier. I'm able to focus on the fact that I'd rather slap him than ride him like he's a Nimbus 2008.

He shrugs and his hands move to his pockets, looking a little self-conscious. “Things change. I’m pretty sure you know that better than most since you went from thinking you were a Muggle to finding out you were a witch in a split second.”

I nod, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from retorting. I’m determined to keep things professional and peaceful between us. Malfoy is a job, not the total arsehole who made my teenage years a living hell. 

“So, how’d you get stuck with this assignment, Golden Girl?” Draco asks, and I wonder if he’s just used some very gentle Legilimency on me. “I’m sure there are plenty of blokes within the DMLE who would’ve been more than thrilled about free World Cup tickets.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sure there are. However, they wouldn’t be keeping their eyes on you, Malfoy,” I reply.

The grin that spreads across his face would likely make other women drop to their knees and beg him for one night together. “You’ve already proved adequate there, Granger. Your eyes were definitely on me when I walked out of my bedroom.”

I glare at him. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again. I was just seeing if the rumours were true.”

“Rumours? There are rumours about me?”

I sigh, unable to stop putting my foot in my mouth. “Of course there are, you dolt. I’ve heard the phrase ‘platinum blond god’ thrown around.”

“And are the rumours true?” he teases, smiling widely.

I glare at him and say, “Oh, please. You know what you look like, Malfoy. You must spend half your life in the gym.” I’m not willing to admit he’s the fittest bloke I’ve seen in quite some time; it’ll only inflate his already over-large ego. I can’t believe I already slipped up and mentioned the rumours.

Malfoy grabs a small duffel bag that had been sitting on top of the dining table and slings it over his shoulder. “Well, that’s a shame. It would’ve been quite an ego boost to have the Gryffindor princess lusting after me.”

I scoff. “That will  _ never _ happen. It wouldn’t even be an issue if you were the last man on Earth.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, but our banter comes to a screeching halt. I start walking towards him and his eyes roam over my form. I’m wearing a standard issue DMLE polo shirt and some black pants with knee-high black leather boots. No heels, no glamour involved. I’m just comfortable and ready to work. 

“So how are we getting to France, sugar quill?” Draco inquires.

_ Did he just call me sugar quill? What in the name of Merlin….? _

“You know my name, Malfoy. Please use it. We’ve already determined that I’m not one of your groupies,” I reply calmly, looking at my watch. “We’re going to be taking a Portkey. I have it in my purse. It leaves in about ten minutes and will deliver us directly to our hotel suite.”

“ _ Our _ hotel suite?”

“Yes, I’m required to share a suite with you in every country. There will be two beds or two bedrooms in each suite, so we won’t be sharing a bed or anything sordid like that.”

He rubs his eyes with one of his hands. “Seriously, princess? We’re sharing hotel rooms all bloody week?”

I nod affirmatively. “I’m not supposed to leave you to your own devices. If you, uh, need alone time, I have to stand outside the door and you cannot put up any Silencing Charms.”

He laughs and rubs his hands together. “Oh, goody! What a fun trip we’re about to have!”

I reach into my beaded bag and remove the Portkey before gesturing to his duffel. “Is that all you’re packing, Malfoy?”

I see him biting his cheek, likely taking my words and twisting them into innuendo since he’s still mentally seventeen. He’s actively trying to resist retorting, but it doesn’t work.

“Oh, you want to see what I’m packing, Golden Girl? I mean, you could’ve asked me to strip while you were eye-fucking me,” he taunts.

“I was NOT eye-fucking you!” I screech, choosing to ignore the condescending nicknames he's using and focus on the larger issue at hand. 

He scoffs. “There are a few things you need to accept before we go on this trip, princess. One, the sky is blue. Two, Quidditch is the most amazing sport ever and is meant to be watched. It’s not just background noise for reading. And three, all straight witches want their turn to ride the dragon, Granger. It’s just a fact. So, if you’re female and interested in men… I know you want to shag me.”

I snort out a laugh. “Right, Malfoy. No straight female has ever said no to you, especially when you refer to sex as ‘riding the dragon’.”

His eyes narrow. “It’s a turn of phrase! Any female that I want would shag me.”

“Ah! That’s the loophole then. You would never want me. That must be why I’m immune to your supposed god-like body and perfect hair,” I quip.

He stays silent and reaches for the Portkey, connecting us through the trinket that will bring us to France — a small replica Eiffel Tower.

“Plus, if I was actually interested in shagging you, this conversation would be going much differently. When I’m around a guy I feel physically attracted to, I usually ramble and retreat when he looks at me like I’m a crazy person. It’s really quite embarrassing,” I admit.

“What about Weasley?” he asks, though it’s clear he hadn’t meant to actually let the words leave his lips. “You always talked to him.”

“That’s true, but that was a childhood crush. Ron never really got my, uh, cauldron bubbling, if you know what I mean,” I answer before the Portkey turns blue, taking us away from England.


	2. Chapter Two - Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the dynamic I'm trying to create between these two and the "subliminal message" idea in this story comes from a little romance novel called Ball Peen Hammer by Lauren Rowe
> 
> It's one of my favorite silly things to read when I'm stressed out. If you have Audible Escapes or Kindle Unlimited, you should be able to get it for free if you want to. The male lead is a male stripper, and she actually facecasts Matthew Noszka for him which is funny since I used him for Alpha Draco before I knew that.
> 
> I love all of her stories, but I especially love the Morgans!

When we land in the hotel suite in Paris, I look over at Granger, but we don’t continue the conversation. It’s as if we left it behind in England, and I figure I’ll let it be for right now. She never wanted to fuck the Weasel? That’s interesting. I know they were together after the war, and I think it was for more than a year… Poor sod, ending up with his dream girl only to find her frigid. I almost feel bad for him. 

Almost.

Obviously Granger is completely off-limits to me. My agent more or less told me that once he found out she would be in charge of my security — he knows that she’s exactly the kind of girl that I would go for, even if I won’t admit it to anyone. It’s one of the drawbacks to having your best friend working as your agent. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was to consider Granger an employee on this trip — I need to ensure my focus is on the snitch and not, well, on her snatch.

The rumours surrounding my sexual appetite and prowess are total bollocks, but we encourage the publicity. I’m actually incredibly selective when it comes to sheathing my sword, so to speak. I put on the persona of a manwhore and make sure I’m photographed with beautiful women all over the world. Letting people assume I engage in serial sexcapades is easier than dealing with speculation over who I’m dating or potentially marrying. Most of the time, I’m actually indulging in more  _ self-love _ than anything else.

Granger starts moving around the hotel suite, likely checking all entrance and exit points. She’s a badass security expert, after all. Watching her, I notice she’s murmuring and twirling her wand precisely, warding every wall, door, and window in the room. Her work shirt is loose on her body, and it doesn’t show me her shape at all. Which is fine, because she’s off-limits and I shouldn’t be trying to take a look at her tits anyway. I still find it a little frustrating that I can’t admire her more… feminine qualities. She certainly doesn’t appear to be the same bushy-haired bookworm I knew years ago; her brown hair has highlights in it, and it’s not really frizzy anymore. She has wonderful waves and there’s a good volume to her mane. Less than before, but definitely plenty for a bloke to tangle his fingers in.

Desperate to find something to focus on that’s not her before my thoughts really get the best of me, I head to what has to be the master bedroom. There are large, ornate double doors that remind me of the Manor — the very pinnacle of luxury. I’d expect nothing less; being the top Seeker in the world  _ should _ come with some perks. I spend all of my time training, honing my skills on the pitch or sculpting my body in marathon workout sessions at the gym.

I think about the way Granger’s eyes moved over my body, stopping to admire my muscled arms and chest, and I grin to myself. If I can take the Golden Girl’s focus off of her job, I’m definitely doing something right. I’ll have to insist that she take me to a gym to workout between matches, even if I can’t lift as heavy as usual. 

Throwing my duffel down on the bed, I walk around the room, inspecting every furnishing. I find a television in the armoire and realise that we’re not in a wizarding hotel. And yet, Granger is warding the hotel room to high heaven and we arrived by Portkey. The Ministry must actually care about the threats made against me and is taking them seriously, though I suppose the Golden Girl’s presence should’ve tipped me off to that. They wouldn’t have sent their best ward creator if this wasn’t serious.

I move from the bedroom to the bathroom, seeing a walk-in shower and deep bathtub. It’s not as nice as the one I have at home, but it’ll definitely do for the two nights we’re in Paris.

I head back to the bedroom and lean down to unzip my duffel. I wave my wand, sending my clothes to their proper places and my toiletries to the bathroom. I look around and decide there’s not much else for me to do while I wait for Granger to finish her warding spells and unpacking. I reach into the duffel and grab the novel I’ve been reading in my limited spare time and my portable wizarding wireless. I turn the wireless on and set it to one of the more modern stations at a low volume before reclining against the headboard with my book.

As soon as I begin reading, I drift away to the world the author has created. I savour the words, though I find myself wondering if my traveling companion has already read this book. I’m sure she has if she’s anything like the little bookworm that roamed the halls of Hogwarts during our years there. This is one of the most highly-regarded novels that has been released by a magical author in the past couple of years.

After twenty minutes or so, two sharp knocks interrupt my relaxation, and I tell Granger to come in. 

“Everything okay with the room?” she asks, and I notice that she’s looking at my book. She doesn’t say anything, but I can see the surprise in her eyes. After a moment, she adds, “The Ministry arranged this place, so I just want to make sure it’s up to your standards.”

“Of course, princess. This Muggle hotel is fine. I’m sure we’ll be totally safe here,” I answer. “Will we be heading to the pitch to check out the facilities? I like to do that before I play somewhere new for the first time.”

With a sigh, she nods. “I don’t see why not, though I had hoped to keep you out of the public eye until the match tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about it, Granger. Just Apparate us to the stadium and I’ll fly a few laps to get a feel for the air. I’m sure they don’t let just anyone in there when there’s not a match on,” I respond.

She holds her left hand out to me and I grab it with my right. It’s so much smaller than mine, and her skin is so soft. I glance sideways and notice her brow furrowing in concentration, and it’s honestly one of the most adorable sights I’ve ever seen. I know that she finds me arrogant and probably hates me because of our shared history, but I’ve secretly always liked her. She was always one of the only people willing to stand up to me. The fire inside of her was intriguing, and I loved riling her up just to catch a glimpse of it. 

I saw a brief flicker of her former flame earlier when I accused her of eye-fucking me and called her sugar quill. She was definitely annoyed with me, and it reminded me of happier times at Hogwarts. You know, before all of our lives went to hell in a handbasket during fifth year. 

I decide to step up my game and try to provoke her while we’re at the Quidditch pitch. It’s been years since I’ve been burned by Hermione Granger, and I can’t wait to feel her fire again.

  
  


When we rematerialize, we’re standing in the middle of a beautiful Quidditch stadium. I keep my fingers laced through Granger’s until she pulls away, her body rotating as her eyes scan the seats in the stadium. There is no one around, but she’s as diligent as ever, staying by my side and ensuring everything is as it should be before letting me walk around. 

A few moments after we arrive, an older wizard steps out of the locker room door. It’s my coach, William Abbott, and he smiles broadly when he sees me. 

“Malfoy! I figured you’d be here at some point. If tomorrow’s weather is anything like this, I’m sure you’ll catch the snitch within a couple of hours!” he states.

“Wanna bet? I think I’ll grab it in under an hour if conditions are this good,” I reply with a grin.

Did I mention that modesty has never been my strong suit?

Granger is standing off to the side, leaning against a barricade that surrounds the perimeter of the pitch. Her eyes are still scanning the area like we’re going to be attacked at any moment and she looks nervous. I watch as she pulls a small device out of her back pocket, and I wonder what it is. It looks like she may be pushing buttons of some sort, and that makes me even more curious. I make a mental note to ask her about it later on.

Abbott summons my broom and two others from the locker room. After a moment, I realise that one is for Granger. He starts walking towards her, and her eyes widen the slightest bit, prompting me to remember that she wasn’t a good flier in our youth. In fact, it was one of the only things she didn’t immediately master when she joined the wizarding world. Externally, I make myself appear gleeful, ready to taunt her. Internally, I feel just a little bit bad for her — I know she won’t _ want _ to fly, but she’ll do it anyway since it’s her job to protect me.

God, if only my father was still around… I can hear his voice in the back of my mind.  _ “Draco, what kind of a wizard are you? A Mudblood witch as a bodyguard?” _

“Ms. Granger,” Abbott begins, “I’m so glad you could accompany Draco! I know he’s in good hands with you!”

She smiles at him and shakes his outstretched hand. “Well, I was assigned this detail. It seems everyone knows I’m not a Quidditch fan—”

“What?!” he exclaims.

Her face blushes a bit, showing her discomfort. “Well, I’m not a big fan of sports in general. Muggle or magical. I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm.”

I snicker, causing her to turn and glare at me again. Saying she’s “a bit of a bookworm” is like saying Nicolas Flamel likes to “experiment in a bit” in his laboratory. Complete understatement.

Abbott stands up tall and calls his broom up from the ground. “Well, we’ll need to change that. You need to cheer for England while you’re here! Come and fly with us!”

“Do you think that’s really necessary? I obviously won’t be able to fly and tail Malfoy during the game. I don’t see why I should fly now,” Granger reasons.

“We’re going to turn you into a Quidditch fan! You need to see the pitch from our eyes!”

I watch her take a deep breath, and she continues trying to wiggle out of flying. “Honestly, I’ve flown before. I don’t think zooming around the pitch will get me any more excited about the sport. In fact, I’m not a big fan of heights in general, so it may even obliterate the small amount of amusement I get from watching the game now.”

At a loss, he looks to me. I know there is literally only one way I’m going to get Granger on a broomstick, and she’s going to be bloody pissed at me about it later. I consider my options for a moment and decide seeing her angry might be the highlight of my week. After all, I did decide to provoke her while we’re here… 

“Scared, little sugar quill?” I taunt. “I would’ve thought your endless stores of Gryffindor bravery—”

“Malfoy! Why are you calling me sugar quill? It’s the most ridiculous nickname I have ever heard in my life!” she spits, eyes starting to blaze while she quickly tries to change the subject.

“It’s a term of endearment, Granger. I know how much you loved to  _ suck _ on them in school.”

Her face turns fuschia when I emphasize the word suck. 

“That’s… Well, it doesn’t make any sense unless you like sugar quills!” she replies.

I smirk at her. “Oh, I  _ love _ sugar quills. In fact, they might just be my favourite candy in all of Honeydukes. They’re so wonderfully practical, but they’re also absolutely delicious.”

She must not know how to respond because she’s silent for far longer than usual.

Abbott chimes in, trying to break the tension that’s started to thicken the air. “Oh, you must know about Malfoy. He’s an incorrigible flirt, Ms. Granger.”

Laughing, her eyes flit between us. “Oh, I went to Hogwarts with Malfoy, Mr. Abbott. He would never want to flirt with the likes of me.”

My coach raises an eyebrow and I shrug. “Come on, Granger. Get on the broom… Unless you’re too scared to fly.”

Another glare is leveled my way, and she commands the broom, summoning it up into her hand. Unlike when we were children, it obediently hops into her palm, causing a small smile to quirk the corner of her lips up. “Oh, I’ve flown on the back of a hippogriff, a thestral, and a dragon, Malfoy. I’m sure I can handle flying on a broomstick.”

I’m floored. I obviously knew about the dragon — the whole wizarding world read about it in the Daily Prophet. But when did she ride hippogriffs and thestrals? I can only remember Potter riding that bloody feathered beast in Care of Magical Creatures.

“Ah, but have you flown  _ with _ the Dragon, Ms. Granger?” Abbott asks.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she states.

I already know what’s coming, so I watch her expression closely while my coach speaks. “Draco. Have you flown with Draco? Everyone calls him the Dragon.”

“How… original. No, I’ve not had the privilege of flying with the Dragon before today,” she answers.

I smirk at her. “Well,  _ Hermione _ , it would be a  _ pleasure _ to fly with you.”

I emphasize her first name and the word pleasure, causing her cheeks to redden again. I heard somewhere that using a woman’s first name in the same sentence with the word pleasure sends a subliminal message, causing the woman to associate the man using her name with, well, pleasure. She’s so unbelievably easy to mess with, and the sound of her first name being drawled in my voice is… sexy. I make her odd, Shakespearean name sound sexy, and I know she’s noticed that, as well.

_ No. Bad Draco. Nothing about Granger is sexy. Look at that horrible work shirt. You don’t date women who have to wear loose-fitting work uniforms. In fact, you don’t date women who work. Yes, her face is gorgeous, but the rest of her is still a mystery.  _

I know I’m being shallow — I’m attracted to her brain and her personality, so it really shouldn’t matter what shirt she’s wearing, and there isn’t a universe where Hermione Granger would not work. I don’t know why I’m fixated on what’s “wrong” with her or what makes her different from the airheads I generally take out. She has been practically hiding since her split with Weasley, rarely pictured in the paper or other gossip rags for  _ years _ . A lot of years. On the rare occasion that she is, she’s always alone and dressed in a way that won’t draw attention to her.

Much to my shock, she straddles the broomstick like a pro and takes off, her long curls flowing behind her. Abbott laughs at the look on my face, and I quickly mount my broom to chase after her. She’s not traveling at top speed by any means, so it’s relatively easy for me to catch up to her. When I do, I pass her and look over my shoulder. Her shirt has moulded to her body as a result of the wind resistance.

Yup, Hermione Granger is still fierce and most definitely has tits. I can see a vague outline of her shape, and it’s more alluring than it should be. It makes me wonder if I’d ever be able to make her cauldron bubble, as she phrased it.

She may not want me to, but I firmly believe that I can get any woman going. I know she’s off-limits, and I can’t touch her, but I can definitely make her want me to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, Draco seems like a bit of a douche. I promise he'll get better over time. I'm working on Chapter 3 now! Hopefully this will be wrapped up by the end of the month.


	3. Chapter Three - Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, HollyBrianne, for listening to my rambling and helping me out with this chapter. You're a gem!

After Malfoy pushed all of my buttons, crooning my name like some old-time Muggle singer, I just jumped onto my borrowed broomstick and took off, probably shocking him as he stood there with his coach, but I just couldn’t take his taunts anymore. I couldn’t deny that he’d made my name sound sexy, his normal drawl almost… caressing the four syllables in a completely sinful way. If he had been anyone but Malfoy, anyone but the arrogant jerk who wrecked a good portion of my self-confidence when we were teenagers, I’m sure he would’ve made me swoon. However, I still associate platinum blond hair and grey eyes with evil. Pure fucking evil, especially since he’s the spitting image of his father, minus the much shorter hair.

When he passes me and looks over his shoulder, he’s grinning. I can’t tell if it’s because he’s showing me up or is genuinely enjoying flying. All I know is that I will not be chasing him. I will not be speeding up. I may have acted like this was no big deal for me, but internally, all I can think about are the times that Harry fell from his broom at Hogwarts and ended up in the hospital wing. 

I fall back, and Malfoy slows his pace as well. His eyes are roaming the skies and the pitch, likely looking for anything that will help him find the Snitch tomorrow. My curious nature plagues me, as always. I want to know what could possibly give him an advantage in this game that seems to rely solely on luck; if the Snitch flutters by one Seeker and not the other, there’s nothing to be done about it, no skills to be honed. Before I know it, I’m beside him and my mouth runs away from me.

  
“What are you looking for, Malfoy?” I ask.

“Well, the match will be starting around this time tomorrow since it’s not the championship. I’m looking for backgrounds that will make spotting the snitch a bit easier and reflective surfaces that will mess with my eyes,” he explains. 

“It moves like it has a mind of its own, so there are no patterns to follow,” I observe. “How do you know where to look?” 

With a smirk, he responds, “I don’t. That’s why I’m looking at everything from up here. The stands will be packed with fans tomorrow, but there are some things that will look the same. See that black wall over there at the back of the stadium?” He points, and I nod. “Well, that would be a good place to look over at from time to time. The Snitch will stand out against it.”

“That makes sense,” I reply. “Did you have landmarks like that back at Hogwarts that you’d use?”

Malfoy laughs. “Yeah, but I always seemed to forget about them during the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin matches. I was too focused on tailing the Chosen One.”

“That’s true. Harry did get most of your attention while we were at school,” I tease.

“Jealous, Granger? I thought I paid you plenty of attention, but I could be wrong.”

Shit. I didn’t mean to imply I wanted more attention from him. That’s the farthest thing from the truth. I would’ve genuinely enjoyed being ignored by teenage Malfoy.

“Oh, you misunderstand me, Malfoy. You and Harry… well, people seem to think you were in love with each other. There are even stories written about it on the Muggle internet,” I quip.

He frowns at me. “You’ve seen that rubbish, too?”

I nod and smile.

  
“Well, you’ve surely seen some of the pieces where  _ we’re _ in love, Granger. Are you conveniently leaving that part out? I do know about the internet and I have Googled myself,” he retorts.

Of course he has. Why wouldn’t Draco Malfoy, arrogant jerk extraordinaire, Google himself?

“Ah, I see your ego has no bounds,” I reply dryly. “It’s all rubbish obviously. I just thought I’d tease you a bit about Harry. Now, let’s get back to the Quidditch lesson. What gives a Seeker an edge in a match?”

Malfoy looks hesitant, but he starts explaining how he does laps around the pitch at the start of a match, how he observes the other team’s Seeker to see what their strategy is, and how he frequently varies his altitude while flying to change his line of sight. These things have helped him to spot the snitch on numerous occasions. Everything he talks about makes sense and, nearly sixteen years after Harry became the youngest Seeker at Hogwarts in a century, I finally start to understand what it is a Seeker actually has to do to find the Snitch. 

“And I thought it was all luck!” I exclaim.

“I mean, a bit of luck definitely helps,” he says with a laugh. “I’d be lying if I said I’d never gotten lucky and had it fly directly in front of me.”

“Harry always made it seem like he was just lucky,” I state.

Another laugh booms out of him. “Isn’t that just Potter’s whole life? He always thinks he’s just lucky over and over again. He doesn’t like to take credit for any of his accomplishments. Instead of admitting he’s good at anything, he’d rather just say it could’ve been anyone. That’s not me.”

I laugh because he’s entirely right — Harry is always modest to a fault. Malfoy has never been that way, and it honestly wouldn’t suit him at all. “I have to admit, Malfoy, you’re right. Harry would never believe there’s any strategy to this. He’d just tell me that he flies around looking for the Snitch and just happens to find it from time to time.” I pause for a moment, debating my next words carefully. ”I actually like that you’re confident in your abilities and that you can explain what you do. It helped me understand the game and what a Seeker does much better.”

He smiles at me. “Were those compliments, Granger? You think I’m a good Quidditch player AND I can explain things well?”

When he smiles genuinely and laughs, he looks so different. I don’t remember seeing him this way at all. It’s like he lights up from inside while he’s on his broomstick talking about Quidditch and teasing me. I find myself smiling and laughing with him, and it’s unexpected. I mean, he was always such a complete and utter twat when we were younger. I guess I assumed he would be the same now — and I think he is, in some ways. He’s clearly still overconfident, a swagger in his step and glint in his eyes, but it’s in a good way now. He’s not aiming to hurt me with his words. If anything, they’re almost flirtatious.

“Yes, you enormous git,” I taunt, “I was complimenting you. I suppose it would be too much to ask you to just take it without commenting.”

“Oh, sugar quill, you must know by now that I’d never just let something like that go,” he drawls.

And of course he’s right. Malfoy has never been one to take praise quietly, always peacocking whenever he gets the chance. 

“So, Granger, has anyone ever taken you flying?” he asks, his eyes still roaming around the pitch.

“No, not really. They usually just accept that I don’t like it and move on. I’ve always just watched while Ginny, Harry, and Ron flew and played Quidditch,” I answer.

“Well, that sounds utterly boring!” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “And Krum never took you during fourth year? I thought you two were dating.”

“He took me to the Yule Ball and mostly sat with me while I studied,” I explain. “Sometimes we — uh, well — we walked around the lake and snogged a bit.”

I can feel my face heating, my heart rate increasing. Viktor had made fire race through my veins, but I’d known I was too young to have sex with him. After Voldemort returned, we’d kept in touch, and I’d had a little fling with him after Ron and I split. Honestly, he’s still the only man to ever make my heart rate quicken and make me lose control. We’d probably still be together if I hadn’t refused to commit to a long distance relationship.

“That blush tells me there’s more. Come on, Granger. Share your dirty little secrets. Did Krum get that cauldron of yours bubbling?” he teases, turning my words from earlier back around on me. 

“Malfoy, I don’t think you need to know anything about my sex life. Why in the name of Merlin do you care?” 

“Well, your hesitance and discomfort are making me very curious. I was surprised by what you said about Weasley, as well,” he admits.

I take a deep breath, trying to buy some time. I don’t want to be sitting up here, talking about my lack of a sex life, with a man who is pictured with a new supermodel-esque woman literally every week. Sometimes multiple times a week. It makes me feel all kinds of frumpy and boring, knowing that Malfoy chooses to spend his time with a brigade of beautiful bimbos all over Europe.

Ron should be a safe topic. I decide to stick to him. “Why were you surprised about Ron?” I inquire.

“Well, it seemed like you two were always in a lovers’ spat. I would think that would lead to some hot make-up sex from time to time,” he comments.

_ Oh, Malfoy, if you only knew… Ron’s idea of good sex involved three minutes of missionary after two minutes of foreplay. It literally takes me longer to wash my hair than it does for Ronald Bilius Weasley to reach completion… and I never did. Not once in nearly two years. Faking it was tiresome and frustrating. _

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Nope. That certainly did NOT happen for us. Ron is sullen and mopey after a fight.”

He moves his broomstick a bit closer to mine, our legs almost touching as we hover. “It’s a shame, really. You’re so passionate that I’m sure your anger could have been morphed into  _ pleasure _ , Hermione.”

_ Why the fuck does he only use my first name in sentences that contain the word pleasure? And why does he emphasize it?! _

“Well, I suppose I might find out someday,” I muse, avoiding his eyes even though I can feel them on my face. “So, do you need to spend some time flying with your coach? Do you talk strategy?”

“Yes, but don’t change the subject, Granger. I’m enjoying talking to you. The blush on your cheeks is adorable,” he replies. “I can talk to Abbott later on. He’s just going to ask me what I noticed up here. It’s no big deal.”

I try to smile again, but it falls flat. I can see his eyes scanning my face, trying to figure out where things went wrong or why I’m uncomfortable. Rather than waiting for him to ask, I start flying again, trying to escape the conversation without admitting my discomfort. He heads in the opposite direction and speeds up significantly, zooming around with practiced ease. When he starts flying at me head on, his eyes are focused, his body low against the broomstick, urging it to go faster. I feel a gust of wind as he blows by me, and it’s cold. He circles the pitch once more and then stops right in front of me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his expression pained. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just… it’s easy to talk about things like that. We obviously have a history and I certainly don’t want to spend our time talking about  _ that _ . I want to just leave it in the past.”

“It’s fine,” I begin. “I want to leave the past behind too, Malfoy. Sex is just not a comfortable topic for me, even if we’re not attracted to each other. I don’t really want to explain it.”

He nods. “Sorry, Granger. I didn’t think it would bother you. But there’s one thing I have to correct you on.”

“And what’s that?” I ask nervously.

His eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun, and they roam over my face and body. “I find you attractive, and I know you find me attractive.”

“We can find each other attractive without being attracted to one another, Malfoy. Anyone with eyes would find you attractive.”

A broad grin stretches across his handsome face. “So, tell me how you became a badass security expert, Golden Girl. I need to know.”

“Before I tell you, I need to warn you it starts with the war,” I say, not wanting to surprise him when I talk about the night Harry broke the taboo and we were brought to the Manor. 

Malfoy just nods and gestures for me to continue. I start flying slowly and he stays at my side, still checking out the stadium while listening to me ramble. I tell him about being on the run and living in the tent with Harry and Ron, how I had read up on protective wards and enchantments the summer before we’d departed. I explain how I’d taught myself the charms and spells since I was already seventeen and then tested the Muggle-Repelling charms and wards on my parents, saying that I was practicing for NEWTs, before I sent them to Australia. At the mention of their Obliviation, he looks shocked, but he doesn’t make any inquiries. I tell him about how we were safe at Grimmauld Place because of the Fidelius Charm and about my mistake with Yaxley, which led us to living in the tent. When I get to the part where Ron left, he stops me.

“Weasley abandoned you and Potter? How come no one knows that part?” Malfoy questions.

“We never really told anyone. It didn’t seem right to have people angry with him after the war. He tried to come back several times, but my wards were basically impenetrable,” I explain, leaving out the Deluminator and how he used it to find us after I spoke his name. 

Malfoy scowls and calls Ron a selfish prat, making me laugh. I continue the story, reaching the part I’ve been dreading from the beginning.

“So, when Harry broke the taboo, my wards fell and we were captured by the Snatchers, and you know what happened then,” I gloss over the nastiest aspect of our history — Malfoy identifying me to his mother at the Manor. 

“How could I ever forget?” he mumbles quietly. “It was one of the worst days of my life.”

His comment is surprising, but he doesn’t elaborate further. I take this as my cue to continue.

“So, after the war, I went back to Hogwarts and I did an in-depth research project about protective spells and their creation. I learned about blood magic for warding properties and as many complex cloaking spells as I could. Safety almost became an obsession for me, and McGonagall allowed me to help her redesign the wards and security enchantments at the school the summer after I graduated.”

Malfoy smirks at me. “So you’re the ward keeper for Hogwarts now?” 

I nod and reply, “One of them. McGonagall obviously has control of most of it, and there are a few others who have placed protection spells, as well.”

“The Gryffindor princess protecting all her little lion cubs,” he teases.

“And little snakes, badgers, and eagles, as well. It’s not as if I only placed protection on Gryffindor Tower, Malfoy. It’s the whole castle and grounds,” I answer, my indignation apparent.

“It was a joke, Granger. Relax,” Malfoy sneers. “Anyway, we should probably be heading back soon. I’m going to take a few more laps. Send Abbott up to chat.”

And just like that, our conversation is over. I didn’t even get to finish telling him about what I do and how I got into it. He’s just dismissed me like he used to when we were children, and I don’t like it. I know I sniped at him after he made the comment about protecting the lion cubs, but come on! For Merlin’s sake — I told him it was the whole school! Rather than starting an argument, I zoom away from him, heading back towards the ground and his coach to do as I was told. I take a seat in the stands and watch them fly around for nearly another hour, and then Malfoy is flying over towards me. 

“Granger, you take offense to things too bloody easily,” he accuses.

I raise an eyebrow at him, trying to signal that he needs to take a long, hard look in the mirror. He’s taken offense to things too easily since they day I met him sixteen years ago.

“Fine. I guess that’s an issue I have, as well. Can we both agree to work on it?” he admits.

“I suppose so,” I reply. “Can I assume any comments from you are not meant to be vicious in nature?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Right now, it seems like we don’t mix well. I don’t want the whole trip to be like this.”

Taking a deep breath, I meet his eyes. “I don’t want it to be that way, either. I think we’re going to have to sort of relax around each other.”

He extends a hand to me, and I mistakenly assume it’s for a handshake. He tugs me out of my seat hard enough to somehow maneuver me onto his broomstick. Before I know what’s happened, he’s looped an arm around my waist and flies faster than I ever would’ve. His chest is flush against my back, pressing me closer to the broom handle as we accelerate. I can feel his hard muscles pressing into me, and I have to admit, it feels wonderful to have a man wrapped around me. It’s been so long.

“Step one, Granger — you need to loosen up and learn to trust me!” he exclaims jovially, and I shriek.

“Malfoy! This is  _ not _ the best way to win my trust!” 

He just holds onto me more tightly and laughs. Thankfully, he doesn’t do corkscrews or loops; he just flies at breakneck speed, my hair surely assaulting his face. I’m gripping his forearm with both of my hands, hanging on for dear life. 

“Please slow down!” I plead, and he obeys after another few seconds. 

He starts to lean back, taking me with him and slowing the broom. Through my wind-tangled curls, he whispers, “Just let go, Granger. Have some fun while we’re on this trip.”

“I’m working! There is no time for fun!” I protest, though I know I don’t have to be serious around the clock.

His breath grazes my ear again. “Leave the past in the past and we’ll get to know each other and have some fun. I promise it’ll all be perfectly safe and won’t interfere with your job.”

Reluctantly, I nod. “Okay. We’ll get to know each other. Who knows — maybe we’ll come out of this week as friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me so many issues! I hope that it turned out alright. The good news is that I've already written Chapter 4, and as soon as I finish Chapter 5, I'll upload 4. I want to stay a chapter ahead just incase this happens again!
> 
> Also... 10 chapters... likely not happening. lol Maybe 15?!


	4. Chapter Four - Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you sick of me yet? I know I've published something every day this week!
> 
> Don't worry, I'm back to work next week and I'll be starting NaNo. I have two chapters of this story pre-written, so hopefully I'll be able to update once a week still.

I’ve somehow managed to pull Hermione Granger onto my broomstick, and I have her pressed against my body. I reluctantly admit to myself that she fits against me perfectly, her head tucked under my chin, her hips settled between my open thighs and my arm circling her waist. Her hair is wild and whipping me in the face, but I don’t even care. I got her up in the air today, and she only protested a little bit. I’m ridiculously proud of myself; she told me she didn’t fly with Potter or the Weasels.

I won’t admit this to her, but I’ve never taken a girl up like this. I usually use flying to escape everyone in my life and clear my head, but this felt like an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. It’s not every day I have the chance to scoop the Golden Girl up into my arms and fly around an empty Quidditch stadium before a match.

_ Draco, you’re an idiot. She’s off-limits. Blaise declared it before you even began this little trip, and you’re fucking up a few hours into it. _

When she suggests that we’ll be friends after this week, I’m excited. I had never entertained the idea that we’d have much contact after the trip, and I find that I want to see her, even though I don’t know her well yet.

“Well, sugar quill, I’m sure you’ve had enough flying today. Do you trust me?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes.

She doesn’t respond right away, but it doesn’t worry me. I know she’s likely thinking about it, trying to decide if one silly broom ride and some banter is enough to build a modicum of trust.

“Yes, I think so,” she finally responds, and I smile into her curls.

“Hold on then!” I say before pressing her forward and flying a few quick loops around the pitch before descending much more quickly than she had earlier.

“Malfoy!” she squeals. “What are you doing?!”

When our feet graze the ground, she firmly plants hers and I follow suit. She tries to move and I hold onto her for just one extra second before releasing her. Granger dismounts and spins around, making me think she’s going to shout at me. But then I realize she’s smiling and laughing.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she states. “Let’s have fun. Where should we start?”

With a smirk, I banish my broomstick back to the locker room. “I didn’t have much planned for tonight. I have a match tomorrow. Why don’t we go back to the hotel and order some dinner?”

She blushes, embarrassed by her enthusiasm. “That sounds like a good plan. I somehow forgot about the match. What time do we need to have you back here tomorrow?”

“Around noon I think,” I answer. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk and hopefully put the past behind us tonight so we can start fresh tomorrow.”

“You… want to talk about it?” she questions.

I nod. “I think we’ll keep assuming the worst of each other if we don’t. Let’s have dinner and some wine and just talk things through. If it’s too much for either of us, we can stop.”

She laces her fingers through mine once more and Apparates us back to the hotel suite. 

  
  


An hour later, we’re sitting across from each other eating room service meals and alternating between apologizing and explaining past misdeeds. It’s been a lot more low key than I expected; Granger is easy to talk to and has been giving me her full attention. The tension that’s spurred to life between us several times today seems to be fading, and she’s actually relaxing around me now. Her guard is down, and she’s answering questions freely. 

In the past hour, I’ve learned she speaks four languages, has a flat in Muggle London and an open invitation to teach at Hogwarts if she ever gets the urge. She’s also working on a dual mastery in Ancient Runes and Arithmancy in her spare time.

“In your free time? How in the name of Merlin do you complete two masteries while working full time and—”

She laughs, cutting me off. “I’ve been working on it for nearly two years. It’ll probably take me another three. I have very flexible teachers and most of what I’m doing now is theoretical research. I don’t need to attend lectures or anything like that. I do the research while at work really, designing new protection spells and wards and the like.”

There is a rosy glow in her cheeks, likely from the wine, and it looks absolutely stunning with her broad smile. Her curls are still a bit windswept, and I find it refreshing that she didn’t immediately lock herself away in her bedroom to “freshen up” when we returned to the hotel. She’s comfortable just as she is, and she doesn’t feel the need to try to be perfect.

It’s funny because, somehow, she already is. She’s perfect, just sitting in front of me with her messy hair. It’s exactly how I imagine Hermione Granger would be with any of her friends. She doesn’t try to impress and seduce. No, she just draws people in like a moth to the flame with her light and warmth. 

“So, Granger,” I begin, cautiously optimistic she’ll be more receptive to my favourite conversation topic now that she’s more comfortable around me. “Are you seeing anyone?”

She nearly spits her wine out. 

“N-no!” she chokes, and I almost laugh. “I’m not seeing anyone right now. Honestly, Malfoy, my love life is of no consequence to you. Why do you keep asking about it?”

“Well, Potter and the Weasel are both married off already. I’m just surprised the last third of the Golden Trio is still on the market,” I reply, trying a different approach with her.

She sighs. “Guys feel one of two ways about me, Draco. I either get put into the friend zone — like with Harry, Neville, Dean, and Seamus — or they’re too intimidated to have a relationship with me since they think we’ll never be equals. Ron, Ernie Macmillan, and Anthony Goldstein would all fit that bill.”

I cock an eyebrow at her. “You must know the Gryffindors were all bad matches for you anyway, Hermione.”

I slip her name into the conversation, hoping it will make her feel even more comfortable. 

“Well obviously! Harry is like my brother and Neville is perfectly lovely but—”

I take the opportunity to tease her once more. “But Longbottom never made your cauldron bubble while we were in school. I think that’s true of most witches, though he is much better-looking nowadays. I think even Pansy would give him a go or two.” I wait for her to speak, but she doesn’t. She just shrugs. “So what about the other two? Macmillan and Goldstein?”

“They each seemed interested in me, but backed off when they realized how close I was to the Minister and McGonagall,” she answers. “I’m, well, I’m practically family with most of the high-ranking members of wizarding society now. It’s like they’re all afraid that they won’t advance in their careers if they break up with me. I’m not really sure.”

I roll my eyes. “Everyone knows who you associate with, Granger. If they seemed interested, they were probably just waiting for you to make the first move.”

She squirms in her seat, and I can tell she’s getting uncomfortable. I’ve never imagined a world where Hermione Granger would be afraid of something as trivial as asking a bloke on a date. She helped Potter to defeat a Dark Lord at age eighteen for fuck’s sake.

“I don’t do that, Malfoy. I told you — when I’m actually interested in a guy, I completely lose my head and I ramble about something completely uninteresting before I make myself retreat.”

I wave off her comment. “Okay, so, we’ve got a mission tomorrow night. You’re going to talk to some blokes at the afterparty and I’m going to watch you.”

Her face reddens further and she stumbles over her words. “That’s completely unnecessary. I don’t need you to teach me how to — how to pick up men!”

“Oh, _ Hermione _ , it would be my _ pleasure _ to help you hone your man-eating skills. You should have men kneeling at your feet, bowing down to your gigantic brain and that hot little body you’re hiding under oversized clothing,” I taunt.

I seem to have stolen her ability to speak for a moment; her lips part like she’s going to say something and then close again. I decide to wait her out, to let her figure out what she wants to say.

“Malfoy… why are you saying these things to me? You never thought about me like this before,” she finally states.

Not touching the food on her plate, she sips her wine. I smirk at her and take another bite of my meal before answering.

“Because they’re true. You’re secretly sexy and anyone would be lucky to have you as their girlfriend or wife or whatever you’re looking to be right now. I just want to make sure you know that,” I reply. “I know I was a right arsehole to you in school, and I can’t imagine my horrible behavior towards you had no consequences at all.”

Her eyes roam over me, likely taking in my body language and facial expression, trying to figure out if I’m being serious or not.

“Well, thank you, Draco,” she finally murmurs. “I’d be lying if I said you hadn’t shaken my self-confidence a bit.”

So brave. So honest, even when it could lead to me hurting her further. Not that I ever would — she’s completely amazing. She lives up to every bit of hype and praise others have given her, and I would never want to tear her down. In fact, I’m going to make it my mission to build her up this week. She deserves to find the miraculous _ one _ — the one person who will complete her and make her happy — and she won’t do that if she stays in the shell she’s built for herself.

“Not a problem, sugar quill. We’re going to get you ready this week. The afterparty will be full of attractive wizards. Someone is sure to catch your fancy.”

I drop the seduction talk after that, winding down the night with casual catch-up conversation. Around 9pm, I bid her goodnight, wanting to relax and read before calling it an early night. When she heads for her bedroom, I watch the gentle sway of her hips and her bouncing curls. It’s almost like I’m in a trance, but when she looks over her shoulder to see me staring, I startle and spin towards my own doors.

  
  


The next morning, I’m up and dressed by nine. I turn on the wireless and start listening to music, mentally preparing myself for the game. I haven’t opened my doors yet; I like spending time alone before a match begins. At half past, I walk out into the main living area and find Granger reading on the couch. She looks up and smiles at me, and I notice that her hair is completely loose and styled and she’s wearing a form-fitting tank top today. As lovely as she looked yesterday, she’s an absolute knockout this morning.

“Good morning,” she greets. “Are you ready to order breakfast? I waited for you.”

I clumsily give her my order, knowing I’ll need to eat before the match. If goes for hours, I’ll need my strength. I try to keep my eyes off of her breasts, but they’re definitely on display today. I wonder if it’s for me or for the poor unsuspecting bastards at the party tonight…

And when I think about all of the Quidditch players and reserves ogling her tonight, I find myself growing a bit frustrated. I don’t want anyone to see her like this. She definitely looks like a maneater, and I know anyone would feel honored to be her first meal.

When she tries to chat at breakfast, I’m short with her and it makes me feel awful. “I’m sorry, Granger. I should’ve warned you. I have a one-track mind right before a match,” I apologize, and she nods her understanding.

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll Apparate us to the pitch. I need to talk to the security team there and make sure everything looks clear,” she answers, giving me space.

I eat the rest of my meal in silence, trying to focus on the match again. However, all I can think about is Hermione and how she looks sitting across the table from me. She’s gorgeous, and I have to keep reminding myself that she’s off-limits. 

As soon as I’m finished, I stand from the table to head back into my room. As usual, I pull a snitch out of my bag and release it, letting it flutter around the room. This exercise helps me tune my eyes up, getting them to focus on the snitch and pick up on the quickly fluttering wings.

I reach out and catch it after an hour, knowing that I’ll have to leave soon. I lay back on the bed and work through my normal visualization exercises, blocking everything but Quidditch out of my mind. Occlumency has helped me in many ways since I learned it as a teenager, and it continues to pay dividends. All thoughts of Granger are banished from my mind, and I prepare myself to go out there and see her again.

  
  


At around 11:45am, I head out to the main living space. Granger is leaning over a piece of parchment, writing quickly, and I can see she’s doing some kind of homework. There are equations and runes all over the parchment, and I just watch her work. Her hair is tied in a knot on top of her head, and the curls are sticking out in every direction. It’s definitely not a great look, but it’s so _ Hermione _ that I can’t find fault with it. 

Nearly five minutes later, she hasn’t even noticed me standing there watching her. I clear my throat and her head snaps up. “Oh! Draco, I’m so sorry! I got a bit lost in this spell theory. I think I’m at a good stopping point now, though.”

“No need to apologize, sugar quill. If you need a few more minutes, that’s fine. I’m ready to go whenever you are. Don’t let me interrupt your intellectual greatness,” I quip.

She blushes and nods, looking over her parchment once more. “No, I’m good actually. I know exactly where I’m at if I stop here.”

She stands and stretches, her hands grazing the rogue curls protruding from her head. Grabbing the elastic encasing her hair, she frees it and shakes it out, allowing the silky-looking locks to fall where they wish to. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen, and I have to focus on pushing those thoughts behind the wall I’ve constructed in my mind to block out all things Granger for the duration of the match. 

Hermione strides over to me and grabs my hand once more. “Ready?” she asks.

“Of course,” I reply, and she spins, pulling us through space and time until we land on the pitch.

  
  


As soon as we’re at the pitch, I lose track of Granger, even though I know she can’t be far from me at all. I’m focused on this match, determined to take England into the next round. No time to think about Gryffindor princesses in tight little tank tops with wild sexy curls. She’s likely walking around, making sure everything is as secure as possible. If nothing else, she’s amazing at her job; there is no one I would trust more with my safety.

Before I know it, we’re flying and warming up on the pitch. Our broomsticks have been maintained, and I’m flying as well as I ever have. I can’t stop my eyes from scanning the stadium, and I see Granger conversing with someone unexpected. She’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Marcus Flint and laughing at something he said to her. My former Quidditch captain's attention is focused on her, even though she's covered herself up with a lightweight England jumper.

Against my better judgment, I fly over to them. She waves to me and smiles. Flint grabs her shoulder and spins her around, showing me the name on the back of the jumper. When I notice it says “Malfoy,” I grin broadly. 

“A big fan of mine, Granger?” I tease.

She smirks. “You know it, Malfoy. I’m here just for you, after all.” 

Her tone is flirtatious, and it fills me with determination. I will catch the snitch, and I will present it to her. She will be my lucky charm for this tournament, and I’ll make sure she knows it.


	5. Chapter Five - Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I'm a day late, but getting back into the swing of night shift is killing me slowly. Please forgive me!
> 
> Thank you to HollyBrianne for reading over Chapters 5, 6, and 7 for me!

I’m sitting in the stands next to Marcus Flint, just watching the match. It’s been almost an hour, and it doesn’t appear that Draco has seen a glimpse of the snitch. He is going to lose his wager with Abbott, and that makes me laugh. His arrogance definitely bit him this time. While we’re watching the game, Marcus has been explaining it to me in a way no one ever has. It’s definitely holding my interest more than it did before, although it probably has something to do with Draco, as well.

I met with the security team earlier, and I was satisfied with all of their standard protections. I added one more — an intention ward. Anyone who intended to cause harm to any of the players would not be allowed to cross the ward line, and security had informed me that one man had been turned away. This worried me, but at least I knew it had worked.

I keep my eyes on Draco, his white blond hair easy to spot amongst all of the dark-haired players. The French national team was nowhere near the calibre of the English team, their chasers completely unmatched. After the first hour, the score is 60-10 in favour of England, and Marcus is cheering loudly. He stands every time a goal is scored and cheers every time the English Keeper, Oliver Wood, saves a goal.

A time-out is called at the two-hour mark, and Draco shoots me a wink. His eyes look between Marcus and me, and I laugh and shake my head. I know what he’s thinking, but I’m not attracted to Marcus at all. His teeth are better than they were in our youth, but he’s still not my type; he was never known to be an intelligent bloke, and I know I need someone who can keep up with me intellectually.

Just before the clock hits the three-hour mark, Draco spots the Snitch. Chants of “Swipe that Snitch” roll through the crowds, and I vaguely remember seeing promotional signs with this phrase on them around the stadium. He hurdles through the sky towards it side-by-side with the French Seeker, and I want to squeeze my eyes shut until it’s over. But I don’t — I need to see Draco catch it so I can praise him later. I want to be knowledgeable.

He’s on the other side of the stadium, so I raise my Omnioculars to my eyes, and I watch as Draco’s long, pale fingers wrap around the tiny golden ball, beating out the French Seeker by a fraction of a second. Before I know it, he’s flying across the pitch towards me, and his broom hovers in mid-air before Marcus and me. He extends the hand clutching the Snitch towards me and I just stare for a moment, unsure of what’s going on. Marcus nudges me and I snap out of it, taking the presented Snitch. Draco grins at me and flies back to his teammates, and they all take a victory lap. 

“Marcus,” I begin. “What just happened?”

He laughs. “Normally, Seekers present the Snitch to their girlfriends or wives if they’ve got them. Since Draco doesn’t have one, he generally picks a kid from the crowds to give it to. He’s also handed it off to his mum before. I’m guessing he just wanted to give it to you as thanks for guarding him.”

Before I can respond, I hear a magically magnified voice ring out. “And the Dragon has captured the Snitch once again! Can we have a word with you, Draco?”

“Of course! I’d love to chat about my wonderful catch!” he replies with a smile.

The reporter goes through a few standard questions, talking about his search for the Snitch and his teammates keeping the game close to give him time to search for it. He makes sure to mention everyone on the team, giving them credit for the win. Once they’re through formalities, the reporter turns to personal questions.

“So, Mr. Malfoy, who is the lovely lady you gave the Snitch to?”

“Hermione Granger. I figured the Golden Girl could use her very own Golden Snitch,” he says, turning on all of his charm.

“Absolutely! And what is your relationship with Ms. Granger?” the reporter asks.

“We’re friends. We attended Hogwarts together, and she’s kindly agreed to be part of the English team’s security detail for this week. I’m just making amends for our past,” he explains.

After a few more minutes, he cuts the questions off and heads to the locker room with the rest of his team. Marcus looks over and asks me if there is anything more between us, and I adamantly tell him there’s not.

“Pity. You two had so much tension between you back at school. I’m sure it would be explosive if you were having sex,” he comments, and I can feel my face heating.

I laugh out loud. “Oh, I can’t even imagine that! He wouldn’t come near me, even if I was the last witch on Earth!”

The older man looks perplexed, but he doesn’t say anything more on the subject. We make our way down towards the ground level of the pitch, and an effusive Oliver Wood comes walking over. 

“Granger! It’s so good to see you!” he exclaims, picking me up and spinning me around. “Are you and Malfoy coming to the party tonight?”

“Hi, Oliver,” I giggle. “It’s wonderful to see you again. If Malfoy wants to come to the party, I’ll definitely be escorting him. I’m worried about the security there, though.”

“It’s at my hotel. Come early and set up whatever protections you fancy. It’ll give us time to catch up!” he suggests, still euphoric about their win.

“That sounds good, Oliver. Where are you staying?” I ask.

He discusses all of the details with me, and Marcus just stands by with a smirk. Oliver’s hand had ventured to my arm at some point, keeping me focused on him. I didn’t even notice Draco approaching until he stepped directly into my line of sight.

“Granger, shouldn’t we be heading back to the hotel?”

I meet his eyes, and they’re like silver ice. “Well, Oliver invited us to a party, and you mentioned an afterparty last night. I’m assuming you’d like to go, Malfoy?”

“Yes, but I need to go back to  _ our suite _ first to get ready,” he answers, and when he says ‘our suite’, it’s emphasized, causing Oliver to release me.

I turn to Oliver. “We’ll see you in about an hour. Will that give me enough time to do what I need to do? I could always make sure the Dragon is secure in our suite and then come over if you think it’s necessary.”

His eyes jump from me to Malfoy, and he replies, “An hour should leave you with plenty of time. No need to leave him unprotected.”

With that, Draco grabs my hand, and we’re off to the hotel suite.

  
  


* * *

When we land in there, I scowl at him. “What was that, Malfoy?”

“What was what?” he answers, scowling at me.

“The tone of voice and emphasizing ‘our suite’ in front of Oliver and Marcus!” 

He rolls his eyes at me in the most exaggerated fashion. “Were you honestly looking to get picked up by one of them while on the job, Granger?”

_ What? He thinks they were trying to flirt with me? There’s no way… _

“Oh, for Godric’s sake! No, I was not. Neither of them were interested in me! It was friendly conversation between former schoolmates, Malfoy! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “You think you’re being put in the friend zone, but you’re just bloody dense, Granger. I know Wood. I know his type, and you are most certainly it. He likes pretty little brunettes with an attitude the size of Hogwarts.”

“And Flint?” I ask, not willing to fight him on Oliver’s type since Merlin knows I have no idea what he looks for in a woman.

“Flint will stick his cock in anything with a pussy and two tits,” he spits.

I slap his chest. “That’s disgusting! Isn’t he your friend?”

Draco glares at me again, and I know we’re doing that thing. Harmless banter is about to turn nasty, and I need to shut it down.

“Go take a shower and get ready. We’re about to start throwing horrid comments at each other over something pointless. Oliver Wood wasn’t trying to get into my knickers—” I see his lips part, dying to interrupt me, and I hold a hand up to stop him. “—but even if he was, it wouldn’t matter. I’m not interested in him in that way. We were housemates, and that’s it.”

I turn and head for my bedroom before he can interject his thoughts again, stripping off the jumper with his name on it and tossing it on the floor. For the life of me, I can’t understand why he’s so bent out of shape about Oliver talking to me. I mean, I’m sure if we ran into Pansy Parkinson or Daphne Greengrass, he’d be chatting them up in no time, even if he wasn’t trying to get into their knickers. And, if he was trying to bring them back to our suite, I’d let him. He’s single, and it’s perfectly acceptable for him to shag whatever pureblood Slytherin princesses we may come across on this trip.

I rummage through my bag, cursing myself for not asking Malfoy how I should dress for this party, eventually settling on a simple royal blue dress with low-heeled sandals. I know it’ll likely be hot in Oliver’s hotel suite with all of the Quidditch groupies and players, and there will likely be dancing involved. Not that I will be dancing. No, I’ll be there, watching Draco as he undoubtedly seduces some unsuspecting woman. Or maybe she won’t be unsuspecting. Maybe she’ll know exactly what he’s looking for and will be confident enough to have a one-off with him.

At the thought of listening to Malfoy shagging some woman into the mattress of his king-sized bed, I feel my blood start to boil and I let out a growl. I really, really don’t want to do that. However unfortunate it is, it’s my bloody job and I’ll do it. 

As I apply some makeup, my mind really starts to spiral. Will Malfoy be a generous lover? Will he make his companion-of-the-night come? More than once? How will he touch her? Will he engage in prolonged foreplay? Will he be a demanding lover, wanting to be stroked and then sucked before the main event? Will he be more interested in getting his hands on a woman’s arse or her tits?

Much to my horror and consternation, I’m turned on by my own thoughts about Draco. I tell myself it wasn’t because the thoughts were about Malfoy. No, I’m turned on because it’s been awhile since I’ve engaged in racy thoughts at all. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I had an orgasm, and that was likely the last time I had sexual thoughts at all. 

And the last time I was with a real, honest-to-goodness man? Well, that was over a year ago, and it hurts to think about. Even though I hadn’t developed a serious relationship with Viktor, we still saw each other whenever he came to London. And we had fallen into old habits last year since we were both unattached.

I sigh, thinking about his huge muscular arms and dark spiky hair. The man always looks good enough to eat and, whenever he’s around, I’m more than willing to take advantage. He knows my body, knows what turns me on and what makes me come.

Feeling even more riled up than I did before, I make myself stop thinking about sex, Viktor, Malfoy… all of it. For this week, it doesn’t matter. I’m here to work, to make sure Malfoy survives the tournament, and that’s all. Sex is not on the menu for me, and I’m perfectly fine with that.

Well, almost.

* * *

  
  


Once I’m ready, I head into the main living area. Malfoy, of course, is likely elbow deep in hair wax or some nonsense wizarding equivalent, trying to make sure there isn’t a single hair out of place. I sit down at the table and start going over the spell theory I’d been puzzling out earlier in the day. As my eyes roam over the parchment, I don’t see any glaring errors. I hadn’t really expected to find any, but I have been somewhat distracted since this assignment started. After my second examination of the parchment scroll, I hear Malfoy clear his throat again.

I look up at him, and he’s standing there in a pair of denims that fall low on his hips… and nothing else. He didn’t bother to put a shirt on, and my eyes can’t help but roam his torso. For the love of Morgana, he doesn’t have a six pack — he has an eight pack. I find myself counting his abs, double-checking to make sure I was not mistaken.

“Granger, my eyes are a bit higher,” he says with a snicker. “Unless you’re just memorizing how your precious cargo looks? In that case, I could take my pants off, as well…”

“No!” I shout, coming back to myself and standing up quickly. “No, Malfoy, but please put a fucking shirt on. I know you’re used to Quidditch groupies and screaming fans, but I’m just here to make sure you’re not attacked. I don’t need a free peep show.”

With a smirk, he pulls the plain white t-shirt he’d been holding over his muscled torso, blocking it from my view.

“So, will you be a groupie now that you’ve seen me half-naked?”

“Absolutely not, Malfoy. I know you too well to want to be another notch on your belt,” I answer easily since it’s the truth.

_ I was just counting your abs and tracing that delicious v of muscle that leads straight down to your…. _

“And is that the only reason you’re not interested?” he says, the good-natured teasing coming back into his voice.

I stand up and stretch, my back arching and muscles shaking a bit. “Do I really need more than one reason?”

“Yes,” Malfoy states. “Especially since you don’t actually know anything about my dating life, Granger.”

I burst into loud peals of laughter. “Seriously? Everyone knows about your dating life. It’s plastered all over every wizarding publication in Britain! You’re the most eligible bachelor, but also the country’s biggest man-slag!”

“Looks can be deceiving, Hermione,” he says. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re completely off-limits to me.”

I internally scream at him. How could he possibly still be sticking to purebloods? There were only so many of them around! I pause to think.  _ Maybe he’s extended his dating pool to half-bloods, but not Muggle-borns? Or maybe he just wouldn’t dare because his father would disown him…  _

“Stop killing me inside your head, Granger. It’s got nothing to do with blood status and everything to do with us working together.”

I scoff. “Working together? I basically work  _ for _ you, Malfoy.”

“I like the sound of that. I’d love to have you under me in any capacity,  _ Hermione _ . It would be a  _ pleasure _ ,” he taunts.

“Okay, enough with the weird emphasis on pleasure! Why do you keep doing that?!” I shout.

He doesn’t reply; he just walks over, takes my hand, and Apparates us to the hotel where the rest of the English national team is staying.

* * *

When we arrive, Oliver is waiting for us. Malfoy releases my hand and then slings his long arm over my shoulders, holding me close to his body. I can feel the heat radiating off of his skin, smell the cologne he put on… and it’s all very distracting. I try to wiggle free, and he squeezes me tighter.

“Oh, Granger, you need to stay by my side,” he drawls. “How else will you know if I need protecting?”

Oliver’s eyes shift back and forth between us and he raises an eyebrow. “Is this a thing?”

Malfoy just smirks at his teammate, and I’m dumbfounded for a moment before correcting his assumption. “No, he’s just being weirdly possessive. He thinks he’s  _ my _ bodyguard or something.”

“Wood,” Draco begins, “Hermione won’t be warming your bed tonight, so you should probably find another bird to chat up. Remember, she has to sleep with me every single night of this trip.”

_ Holy fuck. He’s implying that we’re staying in the same room? That we’re actually physically sleeping together? _

Putting on my sweetest smile, I grab Malfoy’s hand, the one that’s resting on my shoulder, and twist out of his hold like we’re dancing. He’s so shocked that he doesn’t react fast enough to hold onto my hand. Narrowing his eyes at me, he heads deeper into Oliver’s suite, finally stopping at the bar. I’m still standing near the entrance and I take my wand out of my pocket. 

“Who’s here so far, Oliver?” I ask, trying to decide what kind of spells to perform to protect the suite.

With Malfoy gone, Oliver’s eyes scan me from head to toe. “Uh, I think it’s mainly just the team and their families and friends. There might be a few girls, too.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I wait for him to meet my eyes. “Can I draw an intent line and make them all leave and re-enter?”

He laughs, clearly not taking me seriously. “I don’t think any of the friends and family of the team would want to harm the  _ precious _ Dragon, Hermione.”

_ What a jealous arsehole! He already told me it was fine to cast protective enchantments here! _

Feeling a pair of eyes on my back, I turn my head, and Draco’s there, watching my interaction with Oliver and smirking. When I turn back around, Oliver’s eyes are glued to my chest, my breasts pushed up by my arms.

_ Fuck. Draco was right. _

“Wood! This is serious! The Ministry sent me with Malfoy because there are very real threats against him. Please tell everyone to step into the hallway so I can ward the suite,” I state in my most authoritative tone.

He smiles at me, trying his hardest to be charming, and says, “Whatever you say, Hermione. Gods, you’re sexy when you take charge.”

I want to cover my face with my hands and scream — men are so infuriating! Here I am, just trying to do my job, and apparently I’ve morphed into some kind of dominatrix in his mind. However, he does what I told him to, so I can’t really complain. Once everyone is standing in the hallway, I ward Oliver’s suite the same way I’d warded ours, adding another intent line across the entry door. However, I get a little more specific with it. If Draco’s going to pull the concerned big brother act on me all night, I’ll act as his chaperone, too. No one looking to harm him can cross the line, and it will also turn the hair of any woman looking to sleep with him patriotic shades of blue and red. I snicker to myself, happy with my little trick.

One by one, all of the party attendees re-enter the room, and two women end up with flag-inspired hair. Draco grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. “What did you do, Granger?”

I laugh and start walking towards the bar, his hand still gripping my arm. He squeezes it a bit tighter. “Oh, it’ll wear off by the end of the night, Malfoy. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is my hair going to end up a different color?”

In my head, I say,  _ ‘Not unless you cross the line with plans to go fuck yourself!’ _ However, it’ll be funnier if he’s genuinely concerned about his perfect hair all night.

“Only time will tell,” I taunt as I pull my wand from the hidden pocket in my dress again and hold it under his chin.

He finally releases me, and I walk away slowly, exaggerating the sway of my hips just a bit since I know he’s watching me.

  
****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post Chapter 6 next week and Chapter 7 the following. It may be a bit after that, depending on how my muse is feeling about my NaNo project.
> 
> There will be no delay for Every Part of Me - I've got 16 chapters remaining there. =)


	6. Chapter Six - Draco

As I watch Hermione walk away from me, I let out the breath I’d been holding. Fuck, she’s got some serious sex appeal. It’s a pity that she rarely lets it out. Mesmerized by the sway of her hips, I stand there staring like a third year who just caught a glimpse of a pair of tits for the first time. A moment later, Wood is at my side, and it takes all of my willpower not to tell him to stay the hell away from her.

“Gods, when did that little swot turn into a fucking maneater?” he asks.

I scoff. “She’s no different than she was at Hogwarts, Wood. Smart, gorgeous, and focused on whatever work needs to be done.”

The wanker looks over at me, a smirk spreading across his face. “No fucking way. You had the hots for her at Hogwarts?”

“You were gone after our third year, Wood,” I point out. “You didn’t get to see her once the buckteeth were gone and she learned how to control her hair a bit better.”

“I guess you’re right, Malfoy. No one looks their best at age thirteen,” he jokes. “But I still find it hard to believe you wanted to shag her when you were in school. She’s a Muggle-born, after all.”

_ Oh, right, being a Death Eater meant I couldn’t possibly have wanted her. I mean, it’s not like I was forced into taking the Mark or anything…  _

I level a pointed look at him. “You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand, Wood. You didn’t grow up in a family like mine, and you certainly don’t know what it was like to live in the same fucking house with Voldemort as a teenager.”

Chastened, he clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable and ready to move the conversation on, just like anyone else I’ve ever made that statement to. “So you liked her back then and now you’re in a hotel with her all week? When she looks like that?”

I just nod. “Yup. And she still doesn’t really like me all that much, so it should be fun.”

Wood just claps me on the shoulder and says, “Well, in that case, I still have a shot with her. I’m gonna go chat her up a bit more. Even if I can’t hook up with her tonight, she could be fun when I’m home for the offseason.”

_ What. The. Fuck. I just told him all of that so he would back off! How in the name of Salazar is he still interested?! Doesn’t he know that what Malfoys want, Malfoys get? _

_ Bloody fucking hell. She’s off limits. I will not be getting anything from her, and I did promise to help her hone her skills tonight… Though it’s pretty clear she doesn’t need my help; Wood is ready to basically propose marriage to her. _

I take a deep breath and watch as Oliver engages her in conversation again, sipping the beer I’d been nursing since we arrived. Hermione smiles easily while talking to him, her eyes sparkling with happiness. He doesn’t try to touch her, and his eyes don’t roam her body this time. Idly, I wonder what they’re talking about. What would Granger find  _ that  _ funny?

While I’m watching her, a woman approaches me. Her hair is painted the colors of the British flag, and she’s smiling brightly, perfect white teeth on display. I give her a nod, and she must consider this an invitation to stay.

“What an aaaaamazing catch that was today!” she praises, trying to stroke my ego.

I smile and thank her, my eyes darting up to check on Granger every other second. Hermione’s brown eyes notice the woman standing in front of me, her multicolored hair a beacon, and she tries to stifle her smile. Focusing her attention on Oliver again, she bites her bottom lip, and I nearly decide to run over to her. 

Doesn’t she know that’s the most cliche seduction move in the book? 

Before I can move, Miss Britain grabs my right forearm. “Are you listening to me, Draco?”

“Honestly? No,” I answer, not caring if she’s hurt.

She laughs wildly, catching me completely off guard. “It’s fine,” she says. “I know you’re in the middle of a big tournament, and men are always so enthralled with Quidditch, even if they’re not the ones playing it! I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”

I nod, my eyes still darting up to check on Hermione and Oliver.

The woman in front of me stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, and I see Hermione mentally shoot an Avada at her. However, the hot breath on my ear catches my attention, and I hear her whisper, “I can help you take your mind off of things, Dragon. I’ll make you forget about Quidditch for a few hours.”

When she steps back, I check her out, letting my eyes linger over all the right places, hoping Hermione is still watching me. I let myself look up for a fraction of a second, and I notice her arms are crossed over her chest again and her cheeks are red. 

Turning my attention back to the nameless woman, I say, “I’m not allowed to leave the party without my bodyguard. She’d have to be in the room with us — I can’t be without her unless I’m flying.”

The woman shrugs. “If you want an audience, I don’t mind.”

_ Oh, for the love of Merlin! This bint is really willing to shag me in front of Granger? Definitely the kind of woman I’d be interested in. _

I raise my hand and beckon Hermione over. Wood shoots me a look that clearly says  _ what the fuck _ and I shrug. When she reaches us, I smile at her and say, “This lovely lady—”

“Bridget!” she chirps.

“Bridget,” I echo, flashing my most charming smile, “has agreed to be my companion for the night. She told me she doesn’t mind if you’re in the room to protect me. What’s the protocol for this?”

Granger turns to Bridget and shoots her a look worthy of petrification. “You’re joking, right? You don’t actually want to fuck him while I watch.”

Bridget smiles sweetly. “You’re there to protect him. I really don’t mind if it’s for his safety.”

“Do you know who I am, Bridget?” Hermione asks.

She shakes her head, and I nearly crack up. Granger’s face has been in wizarding publications since she was fifteen years old, and she doesn’t look all that much different now.

She extends a hand for Bridget to shake. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

The phrase has the effect she intended, forcing Bridget to gasp and ask, “Really?”

“Yes, really,” she replies. “Do you think the Ministry of Magic is paying me to watch Malfoy shag every woman who propositions him?”

Bridget shakes her head, trying to convey to Granger that she’s not an idiot. However, it’s way too late for that; Hermione has already decided this bint doesn’t have enough brains to tie her own shoes, nevermind give her a run for her money in the intelligence department.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other,” Hermione says with a smile. “I’m sure one of the other British players would be more than willing to scratch your itch tonight, Bridget.”

And just like that, Bridget is walking towards the two beaters and her hair has turned back to a mousy shade of brown. I look at Granger, hoping she’ll explain why the poor woman’s hair changed back at that moment.

“Well, one skank down,” she mutters and then looks around the party. “Only seven more to go.”

Another woman steps through the suite door and her hair changes color. With a groan, she adds, “Make that eight.”

Suddenly, it clicks. “That’s an intent line, isn’t it?”

Hermione hand flies up, nestling between her breasts. “Bless my heart, Malfoy, you’ve figured it out!”

“So all the broads with blue and red hair came here intending to—”

“Ride the Dragon,” she interrupts. 

I start laughing hysterically, and she joins me. I put my arm around her shoulders again and start walking towards Oliver and two of the chasers. “You should’ve been in Slytherin, Granger. You’re a fucking genius,” I praise, though she may not consider it a compliment.

“Wouldn’t being a genius send her to Ravenclaw?” Oliver muses.

With a sigh, Granger decides to join the conversation. “I was a hatstall. It considered putting me in all three houses, though it crossed Slytherin off the list first.”

“So how’d you end up in Gryffindor?” Wood questions.

“I just asked the hat to put me there,” she replies.

I notice Wood’s eyes darting to my arm. It’s still wrapped around her shoulders, and she hasn’t attempted to get away. Smirking, I tuck her into my side more tightly.

“Granger, you need to protect me from the eight skanks,” I whisper.

Turning her face towards mine, she spits, “There are actually ten now. Pansy Parkinson and one of those daft Greengrass girls just walked in.”

Sure enough, I look up and see Pansy’s green eyes focused on me, along with Astoria Greengrass’ icy blue. I almost let go of Granger, past habits trying to resurface in the face of my old housemates. Instead of letting go, however, I just tip my beer bottle in their direction like I’m making a toast. They’re both dressed to kill, though their hair looks utterly ridiculous in the blue and red shades Granger chose.

“Don’t you think it’s weird they came here together and are both hoping to sleep with you?” Hermione asks in a low tone.

Laughing, I respond, “Actually, it’s not surprising at all. They’re both on the hunt for a husband, so I’m assuming they’ve forgone their contraceptive potions. I really need you to protect me from those two in particular. Please save me from a dull life with a pureblood princess, Granger?”

_ Oh, fuck, I was just trying to be funny and tease her a bit, but now that the words have left my mouth, I truly mean them. I don’t want to be with someone like Pansy or Astoria. I want someone who will banter with me, a girl who won’t take any of my shite lying down. And witches like that are few and far between. _

Hermione chuckles and leans even closer to me, murmuring against my ear, “Don’t worry, Draco. I take my protection very seriously. There will be no accidental Malfoy heirs sired while I’m around.”

She grazes my cheek with her lips right as Pansy and Astoria reach us and turns a grin on them. “Parkinson. Greengrass. How nice to see you again! I don’t remember seeing you at the match today.”

They both make half-hearted greetings to Granger and then turn their eyes on me. Hermione bends her arm at the elbow, reaching up to interlace her fingers with mine on her shoulder. “Pans, Stori. Were you at the match? I would’ve held tickets for you if I’d known you were coming.”

Pansy scoffs. “Of course I wasn’t at the match. You know I won’t sit outside like that during the summer! The sun isn’t good for my complexion!”

Recalling our Hogwarts days, I add, “Or the winter because it dries your skin out. Or if it’s raining or too sunny in the spring or the autumn. I remember.”

At my admission of just how particular Pansy Parkinson was about the weather and its effect on her skin, Hermione laughs in the most unladylike way, snorting and gasping.

“Seriously, Parkinson?” she blurts. “You’re a  _ witch _ . There are literally spells that will protect you from all of those things!”

The two pureblood girls glare at her, and I divulge more information. “Oh, it’s not only about the skin, Granger. What if a hair blew out of place? Or if her scarf was blown slightly off kilter?”

Pansy levels a vicious smirk at me. “Well, Draco, you used to like women who were well-bred and always looked their best. It seems your standards have fallen,” she says, gesturing to Hermione.

Granger looks at the girl who had put her down repeatedly as a child and I can feel her shrinking a bit, trying to become smaller. Refusing to let that happen, I squeeze her hand, urging her to tell Pansy off, letting her know I’ve got her back.

“Well, Parkinson, I happen to think he’s actually raised his standards. He’s not willing to settle for any pretty little thing that drops into his lap anymore,” she retorts, and I have to admit, it’s not her best work. She’s clearly been thrown off by Pansy.

Astoria looks between the two women, timid enough to just observe rather than rally behind her friend. I’m grateful for her silence; I want Hermione to focus on bringing Parkinson down.

“Have you seen the papers, Granger? Draco often slums it with witches like you, but they don’t last more than one night,” Pansy spits. “He’s just biding his time until he finds the one.”

A deadly smile forms on Hermione’s face. “Well, Parkinson, I’d assume since Draco already had you while we were at Hogwarts, you’re not  _ the one _ ,” she retorts, making air quotes when she says ‘the one’. “In fact, you’d be considered his very first cast-off. At least your rejection was a significant one.”

I laugh even harder than I did earlier in the night. I kiss the crown of Hermione’s head, causing Astoria to widen her eyes. “You’re so fucking funny, Granger. I love watching you turn into a sexy little lioness.”

With that, I tip my beer bottle towards Pansy and Astoria again, not bothering to say anything, and I lead Hermione towards the improvised dance floor. 

“Malfoy, I don’t dance like  _ this _ ,” she hisses, observing the gyrating females in the middle of the room. “I can’t do that.”

“Shhh, I’ll lead you through it. We need to make sure no more women come after me tonight,” I reply.

When we reach our destination, I put my body fully behind hers, dropping my hands to her hips and helping her move to the music. At first, she’s stiff and clearly uncomfortable, my groin pressing into her arse, but she slowly relaxes, starting to sway with me. After a minute or two, she grows bolder, turning around in my arms so we’re face to face. Looking up into my eyes, our bodies still moving in sync, she wraps her arms around my neck. 

In that moment, I think she’s going to kiss me, and I want her to. I want her lips on mine, her tongue in my mouth. But she only smiles and says, “Thanks for letting me handle her, Draco. I needed that.”

It takes all my willpower to keep my hands where they are and not grab her arse, especially when I notice we’re being watched. Oliver, Pansy, and Astoria are all looking at us, likely trying to figure out if this is real or just a charade. I bury my face in her hair, my lips nearly touching her ear. “We have an audience, Granger. Wood, Parkinson, and Greengrass are watching us like hawks.”

The music slows down, and she pulls me in closer, her body now completely flush against me. Leaning her forehead against mine, she replies, “Well, let’s give them a show.”

Meeting her eyes is difficult when we’re this close. “What do you mean?” I ask, desperately hoping she’ll make the first move and kiss me. If she does, then I can just tell Blaise it’s all her fault, that the off-limits designation wasn’t violated by me.

“You ready to leave?” she replies, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

I nod and she spins, Apparating us away from the party and prying eyes.

* * *

  
  


When we land back in our suite, she releases me and starts laughing again. “Oh, Gods, Malfoy! Did you see Pansy’s face right before we left?”

_ No, I was too focused on you and how badly I wanted to kiss you. _

“I did. I’m sure she’ll be owling my mother first thing tomorrow morning,” I comment, trying to find the humour in the situation when all I can think about is the lost opportunity.

Like always, she can sense the change in my mood and frowns. “Did I do something wrong, Draco? I mean, we can go back if you’re worried—”

I smile at her. “It’s nothing, Granger. Don’t worry about it.”

Warily, she takes a step towards me and grabs my hand again. “Are you sure?”

I feel her thumb stroke over the back of my hand, and I squeeze her fingers between mine. They feel so right there, so perfect. Plastering a fake smirk on my face, I respond, “Yeah, I’m just a little lonely without company for the night. I always like to have a warm body in my bed after a match.”

Rolling her eyes at me, she tries to pull away. I just hold her hand more tightly. “Would you like to watch a movie or something, Granger? We can just spend the rest of the night hanging out. Like friends.”

I see her visibly swallow, the column of her throat long and delicate, and I can tell that she’s nervous. Letting my eyes roam down the rest of her body, I can see she’s squeezing her thighs together and shifting on her feet.

_ Fuck, she’s aroused. She wants… me? Did I do this to her? Or was it Wood? Why am I noticing literally every little thing about her tonight?  _

“Just let me take a quick shower,” she replies. “I’ll meet you in your room in half an hour or so?”

I nod and release her, letting her walk into her bedroom. Once I hear the shower running, I kneel on the floor in front of the fireplace, praying it’s hooked up to an international Floo line. I call for Blaise’s flat, and he’s sitting in an armchair with a woman in his lap when my head pops into the fireplace.

“Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing?” he groans.

I look at the woman, and I can tell it’s Daphne Greengrass. “Hey Daph,” I greet. “I saw your baby sister tonight. You should know better than to let her go out with Pansy. They’re on the prowl.”

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Of course they ended up where you were. I’m sure you ran for the hills.”

Smirking, I reply, “Oh, I’ve got a bodyguard. Haven’t you heard?”

Blaise immediately picks up on my tone. “Fuck no, Malfoy! I told you not to touch her. She’s off-fucking-limits, especially while she’s responsible for you! Please tell me you haven’t shagged her already!”

Letting out a loud, exaggerated sigh, I admit, “No, I haven’t. I haven’t even kissed her, Blaise.”

“But you want to,” Daphne states, smiling at me.

I nod and then remember they’re only seeing my head in the fireplace, so I decide a verbal response is probably best. “I really fucking want to.”

Blaise pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “For the love of Slytherin, Malfoy. You can have any broad you want. Why are you sniffing around Granger? You must know she’s not into casual sex.”

_ Because she’s everything I’ve ever wanted. She’s sexy and funny and smart, and s she’d rather be at home with a good book than out at parties and galas every night. She’s different from any of the other witches I’ve met, and it’s a good thing. The best thing ever. _

“It’s not like that, Blaise,” I answer. “She’s just… different. I mean, she’s still Granger, but she’s somehow sexy and fun while still being her swotty self. We were at the afterparty tonight, and she set up this intent line that everyone had to cross. Any girl who was looking to shag me ended up with blue and red hair. It was fucking genius.”

“Uh huh.”

“And then when Pansy and Astoria came in, she let me hold on to her. My arm was around her shoulders, she kissed my cheek, and then she put Pansy in her place. We danced and it was just… nice,” I continue.

Blaise gives me a pointed look. “And now you’re back in the hotel suite the two of you are sharing?”   
  


“Yeah, but she’s put distance between us since we got back—”

He holds up a hand to halt my speech. “Good. Keep it that way, Malfoy. She’s still off-limits. You need to be at the top of your game if you’re going to beat Ireland in the next round. We can’t have you focused on the woman who is supposed to be your employee on this trip.”

_ But that’s not what I want. I want her. _

“I don’t even know if she reciprocates, Blaise. I just want to know if she wants me, too.”

“And if she does?” he asks, but I know it’s a rhetorical question and he’s about to give me a hard dose of truth. “You’ll fuck her, and you’ll be so obsessively focused on her and what she wants that your game will slip. Now is not the time for you to go all caveman possessive over a woman who spends ninety-five percent of her life with other men, Draco. You know I’m right.”

I let out a sigh. “You’re right. I almost told Wood I’d  _ Avada _ him if he touched her today.”

“Oh, hell no! You’re not going to brawl with your teammates over Granger! Don’t be a fucking idiot, Malfoy! You have a lot riding on the outcome of the tournament, especially if you want to settle down and stop traveling so much! We need to get you the best possible deal from the British and Irish league,” Blaise reminds me. “And, what if you start something with her and it doesn’t work out? Would you still want to be in Britain?”

_ It would work out. We would make it work. If we made this decision, if we tried, we’d give it our all. I know we would. _

“I can see that crazy look in your eyes, Malfoy. You don’t even know if she’s interested in you. Let it go for this week and then figure it out,” Blaise scolds. “Just focus on creating a friendship with her. You don’t need to rush into anything.”

“But I’ve got blue balls,” I whine, trying to change the tone of the conversation.

Daphne covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. With a smirk, Blaise says, “I guess you better go have a wank in the shower then, Malfoy.”

After that remark, I glare and pull myself up for the floor, yanking my head out of the fireplace. Just as I’m standing up, I hear the water in Hermione’s bathroom turn off. I quickly move into my room and change into joggers. I leave my shirt on, even though I’d usually take it off before climbing into bed. I sit there, feeling stressed about the whole situation.

_ What will she be wearing when she comes into the room? Does she sleep in skimpy little negligees? Or… _

My thoughts are interrupted when she walks through the open doors, a Bulgarian Quidditch t-shirt ensconcing her small frame. Even if the shirt wasn’t red, I’d be seeing red — I know where she got that shirt, and it makes my blood boil. Honestly, I have no idea why she’d wear it around me to begin with. She must be able to sense something’s going on between us… I mean, I haven’t exactly been subtle about my attraction to her.

And then I remember. Absolutely cannot understand men’s signals. Probably thinks I still wouldn’t consider her because she’s a Muggle-born. It’s either that or she’s purposefully trying to provoke me into action.

But if she’s not feeling this the way I am, and I try to touch her, the consequences will be disastrous. Remembering my conversation with Blaise, I resolve to keep my hands to myself. I won’t rip the huge, hideous t-shirt off of her, even if it makes me ill just looking at it.

I pat the mattress beside me, gesturing for her to sit down. “My bed is your bed, bodyguard.”

Hermione smiles and I find myself wondering what she’s wearing under that monstrosity. A pair of shorts? Only knickers? Some type of bra?

Before she sits down, I realize that Blaise was right — I have to take care of myself. Otherwise, I’m going to be thinking about shagging her into the mattress all night long. I hand her the TV remote.

“Find something to watch, sugar quill. I feel like I need to clean up a bit, too. You smell so good and I’ve probably got Bridget’s perfume on me.”

She looks a little confused, so I just flash her a charming smile and make my way to the bathroom. I shut the door and thank Merlin I left my wand on the counter in here. I silence the room, not wanting her to hear me wanking. I step into the shower and I’m blasted with cold water. I’d forgotten we were in a Muggle hotel for a moment; in wizarding hotels, the water always starts out warm. Goosebumps break out over my skin, making me extra sensitive to touch. As the water warms, my body heats back up.

I think about Hermione, how she looked this morning with the tank top clinging to every inch of her torso — the contours of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her arse in her Muggle jeans. While I’m working myself up, blood slowly filling my cock, I wash up again, rinsing the gel from my hair. I close my eyes and I can see Marcus spinning her around, revealing my name across her back. Not Oliver Wood, or Demelza Robbins, or Viktor fucking Krum’s. Mine. 

At my possessive internal declaration, my hand moves down to my prick. I begin stroking, pumping the length exactly the way I like. Like I admitted earlier, it’s been awhile since I’ve actually taken someone home with me. I’ve definitely discovered exactly what I like when I’m loving myself. “Oh, fuck, yes! Just like that!” I groan, even though it’s my own hand moving along my hardened flesh.

I remember how her body felt pressed against mine when we were flying, when we were dancing, when I just had her tucked into my side. I swear I can smell her shampoo or her perfume or whatever the fuck it was. Imagining her face, I see her eyes darkened with desire, her melancholy when she admitted she and Weasley had never had passionate make-up sex. I wonder if anyone’s ever taken the time to really pleasure her, to make her come over and over again and shut her huge fucking brain off for awhile.

At the thought of her coming undone, my pace increases, my hand moving more quickly while I thrust gently. I brace my other arm against the tiled wall of the shower stall and my forehead rests on it. I can feel my own orgasm getting closer as I imagine her face, the face I think she’d make when she comes undone. I groan, seeing her curls spread across a white pillowcase, her head tipping back in ecstasy.

Again, I imagine Hermione in the jumper with my name on the back. Only in my fantasy, it’s her last name now too, and she’s wearing it while I’m fucking her from behind, her hair wrapped around one of my wrists and the opposite hand gripping her hip. Fuck, I’m absolutely dominating her, and she’s begging for me to keep going, to go harder and faster. Her words, even though they’re only part of this fantasy in my head, spur me on, and I stroke myself faster, imagining it’s her pussy wrapped tightly around my shaft.

I absolutely fall apart when I come, having one of the most intense orgasms of my life to the thought of Hermione Granger. She’s wrecked me, and I haven’t even kissed her yet.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the build-up! Do I sense some mutual jealousy at work here? 
> 
> *wink*
> 
> We'll pick up a bit before we left off with Hermione next week.


	7. Chapter Seven - Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to DrunkOnAmortentia and coyg_81 for looking this over!

Sitting in Draco’s bed, I feel self-conscious. I’m wondering why he didn’t take a shower when I did. Why had he waited for me to get here and then hopped in? When we had gotten back from the party, I thought I felt something forming between us. I had to distance myself from him — I worked for him in a roundabout way. I couldn’t sleep with the man the Ministry was paying me to protect. Retreating to the shower seemed like the best idea at the time.

The dancing, the open flirtation, the touching… It was all beginning to be too much. But when he invited me into his room, into his bed to watch the movie, I couldn’t help the feeling of excitement that coursed through my body. A rush of heat washed over me from head to toe and then traveled back up, settling somewhere in my abdomen, twisting and warping inside of me until I was clenching my thighs together again. After all, it wasn’t every day that a gorgeous, insanely fit man invited me to join him in bed.

Wait, when had this started? This was Malfoy. I swear to Merlin, it’s like I was living in one of the ridiculous fanfiction stories. Malfoy and I had been forced into close proximity, and now I suddenly forgave him for everything that passed between us when we were younger? And I wanted to shag him? What was next — a single bed in our hotel room in Ireland when we got there?

Frustrated by my own thoughts, I let out a groan into the pillow, making sure it was muffled so Malfoy couldn’t hear me, although… I listen closely, and I determine he’s put a Silencing Charm up in the bathroom. I can’t hear the water running or any other noise coming through the door. Unfortunately, his attempt to mask the noise coming from the bathroom intrigues me more than anything else. I quickly go to my room and retrieve my wand, hoping he’s just used the simple version I can quickly cancel and restart.

I stand right next to the door when I drop the charm, and I can hear him groaning and moaning. “Oh, fuck, yes! Just like that!”

I feel my knickers getting wet, arousal coursing through me and turning into liquid desire. I’m getting hot and bothered from listening to Malfoy wank, and I’m not the least bit sorry about it. I want to touch myself, to bring myself to release in time with him. It’s the closest that I’ll get to having sex with him this week, and fuck, I wish I could do that. In fact, right now, I want to barge into the bathroom and strip down. I want to get in the shower with him and drop to my knees and finish him off. 

The final wayward thought spooks some sense into me. Good Godric, it’s Draco Malfoy I’m thinking about. I can’t possibly be thinking about doing that with him. Replacing his Silencing Charm, I move back to my room and splash some cold water on my face. I try to think about anything but sex, blow jobs, and Malfoy. I look to my nightstand and see the very, very dry volume on spell theory. As swotty as I am, I can only read about the construction of spells for so long before I want to either go to sleep or turn my wand on myself.

I grab the book and walk back to Malfoy’s room, flipping the telly on to a music channel for background noise. Cracking the book open to the last chapter I’d read, I start trying to focus on runes and words, but they blend together on the page. My mind keeps drifting to a fantasy, to one where Malfoy is thoroughly enjoying everything that I do to him. Normally, Viktor is my fantasy lover, so this feels new and exciting, if not a little awkward, like the first time with a new partner in real life. I feel myself drop the book and one of my hands moves to my breast, groping the way I like. I’m sensitive, aroused, and out of control. I’m touching myself in Draco’s bed, and my body thinks it’s a fantastic idea. In fact, my body is praying he hears me, that he catches me, that he opens the door and wants to finish me off, too.

I know I’m playing a dangerous game — I put his Silencing Charm back in place, so I’m not going to to know when he’s done with his shower. I internally debate taking it down again, but the risk is making this so exciting. In my head, I’m imagining him coming into the room just as I slip my hand into my knickers and stopping me, telling me that he’d take care of me. That was a line that Viktor had used our first time, and it had really stuck in my head for some reason. It just… turned me on, the idea of someone ensuring that I got what I needed instead of the opposite. I guess that’s what happens when the first man you shag doesn’t give you a single orgasm in nearly two years.

I immediately banish the thought of Ron from my mind, his freckled skin not something to be fantasized about. No, as my hand descends to my center, I’m thinking about pale skin, the lightest blond hair, the stormy eyes — and just as I’m about to breach my waistband, the doorknob rattles and I jerk my hand away, like I’ve put it down on a hot stove. As hot as it was in my fantasy, I can’t bring myself to continue. What if he wasn’t thinking of me in there? What if he’s a terrible lover and doesn’t care about getting me off? 

I quickly move to pick up my book, and the door swings open. He’s put his sweatpants back on, but his torso is still bare. Just like earlier tonight, my eyes devour every inch of flawless skin and every ridge of hard muscle. 

  
“Oh, sugar quill,” he coos, “your cheeks are pink. Is it too hot in here?”

I swallow hard, and it feels like there’s something stuck in my throat. “No,” I reply, unable to choke out any more words. “I’m just… frustrated.”

“Frustrated? Why?”

Stupid. Why did I say that? Where is my brain?

“Yes. I’m having a hard time understanding something. It’s not normal for me,” I respond, obviously unwilling to admit that I was sexually frustrated because of him.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Seriously? I wasn’t in the shower for that long. What could you have possibly gotten into?”

_ Oh, quite a lot, actually. I took your Silencing Charm down, listened to you for long enough to know you were masturbating, ran back to my room to get a book, and started touching myself. I think you must have lost track of time while you were in there. _

“I’m a fast reader.”

Draco grabs my book off the bed and closes it, using the bookmark I’d discarded on the bed to save my place. More thoughtful than Ron had ever been. “So did you find something for us to watch?”

I feel my face growing even more red. “I, um, I thought we could decide together... I just — I don’t know what you like.”

For the love of Merlin, now I’m stammering. 

I can see him biting his cheek. He wants to say something, and I want to hear whatever it is. Meeting his eyes, I smile and hope he’ll open up and say it. However, he takes a deep breath and settles onto the bed. There is at least a foot of space between us, and I want to close the gap. Snuggling into his side at the party had felt nice, and I’m willing to bet I’d enjoy it even more now. But I won’t allow myself to do it.

“Can you work that remote, Granger? I’ve used them, but I’m sure you’re more familiar with it than I am.”

I nod and pick it up, idly scrolling through the channels. I wait for him to tell me to stop, but he doesn’t. When I look over at him, his eyes aren’t even on the screen. They’re on my legs, and I begin to internally freak out. 

_ Had I shaved? Were my legs hairy? Did I have scaly dry skin? Oh Gods, that would be mortifying! I’m sure the women he’s usually with are perfectly hairless and buffed and moisturized. What was he staring at?!  _

I had to redirect his attention so I could discreetly check. “Malfoy?” I prompt. “Have you seen anything you’re interested in watching? Or shall I keep going?”

He subtly shakes his head. “Sorry. I zoned out for a minute. Keep going.”

_ He zoned out while his eyes were on my legs? Is that a good thing or a bad thing?  _

This was getting complicated. Very, very complicated. Very, very quickly.

When I pass by an animated program, he tells me to go back. “You want to watch cartoons?”

“How do they do that?” he asks. “I’ve always wondered. It’s not like they’re filming real people with a camera.”

The question is so cute that I can’t help but indulge him. “Let me go get my BlackBerry. I can look it up so I can explain it properly.”

“Blackberry? How will a blackberry help you to explain—” 

I laugh, cutting him off. “It’s a Muggle cellular telephone that can also access the internet. They just named it BlackBerry.”

“Why wouldn’t you just call it a cell phone?” he asks. “That’s the common terminology, yes?”

I sigh. “It does more than what is commonly called a cell phone. Just give me a moment and I’ll show you.” I realize what he’s just said and then decide to correct him. “Although we don’t call them ‘cell’ phones, they’re just mobiles — have you spent a lot of time in the United States? That’s what they call them over there.”

“Well, I’ve been there a few times for Quidditch, yes,” he replies.

I stand up and start walking around the bed. When I reach the door, I hear him groan. I turn to face him. “What’s wrong now?”

He waves his hand at me wildly. When I don’t immediately comprehend what he’s trying to say to me, he states, “You’re wearing a shirt that says Krum on the back. What is that about?”

I shrug. “It’s comfortable. He left it at my flat last time he came to London.”

Draco scowls. “He stays at your flat when he comes to London? How often does that happen?”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I say, “That’s none of your business, Malfoy.”

“Really? We’re at the Quidditch World Cup, and you’re supposed to be  _ my _ bodyguard, and you’re wearing an opposing country’s shirt,” he whines.

I hope my face conveys the shock I’m feeling in that moment. “Seriously?! We’re in our hotel room! It’s not like I’m wearing it to the match! It’s a comfortable shirt to sleep in!” I place my hands on my hips. “And, on top of that, you’re my job, Malfoy! Viktor is my — my friend. We see each other whenever he’s in London.”

“You mean you shag him whenever he’s in London,” he sneers, reverting to the rude, jealous wanker he’s always been.

I storm out of the room, not acknowledging his comment. I look down at the t-shirt, the one Viktor had left behind well over a year ago, and let out a sigh. Why did everything have to be about sex with Malfoy? Why couldn’t he just keep his pointy, ferrety nose out of my business?

Why did he even care?

I flop down on my own bed, not wanting to go back into Draco’s room. I don’t know for certain if he meant to hurt me and make me feel like a slag with his words, but that’s what he’d done. Realizing I’d left my wand in his room, I close my eyes and focus on summoning it. I still haven’t mastered wandless magic, but in this moment, I’m praying my need is great enough to make my wand come to me. I certainly don’t want to go back in there right now.

However, instead of zooming in of it’s own accord, my wand enters the room in Draco’s hand. I look up at him and hold my hand out. “Thank you for bringing it.”

_ And thank Merlin he’s put a shirt on. _

“Were you trying to summon it? It sort of floated up in the air and started moving, but it was slow. I caught it.”

I glare at him. “Go away. I don’t need to be slut-shamed by someone like you.”

A look of shock crosses his face, but then he masks it. “Slut-shamed? Granger, I know you’re not—”

“Oh really? Then what was the nasty tone when you said I shag Viktor whenever he comes to London?” I question.

Draco’s eyes drop to the floor. “I’m sorry. I did it again. I picked a fight with you for no reason, and that was wrong.”

Because I’ve known him since we were eleven years old, I know that he doesn’t easily back down, so this is unusual. I’d also caught the possessive way he’d said that I was his bodyguard. Maybe this attraction isn’t so one-sided, after all. Maybe he was thinking of me in the shower… 

Come to think about it, that would make sense… Why else would he have immediately headed for the shower when I came into his bedroom?

I decide to cut him a bit of slack. If he’s feeling half as conflicted as I am, I can’t really blame him for his jealousy. I know he had been watching me with Oliver at the party, and then he’d held me close, essentially staking a claim on me. 

“Are you going to come back with your BlackBerry? Or are our plans for the night blown to hell?” Draco asked.

I sigh. “I’ll be back. I just, I don’t know, I don’t like it when people judge the relationship I have with Viktor.”

His eyebrows raise. “You’re admitting you have a relationship with him?”

Trying to buy a few moments to think about how to describe what I have with Viktor, I simply nod and stand from the bed. I walk over to my beaded bag and pull out my BlackBerry. I start to search for a website that explains animation and Draco grabs my shoulder. I startle and look up at him.

“I thought you weren’t seeing anyone,” he states.

I take a deep breath and set the phone down again. “I’m not. I never said that we were dating. We just… get together whenever we’re in the same city. It’s nothing serious.”

Draco looks conflicted for a moment and then just nods, not speaking another word.

“Malfoy, it’s really not a relationship at all. It’s just sex, and I haven’t seen him in a little over a year. Our schedules just haven’t lined up—”

He forces a smile. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Granger. Like you said, you work for me. It’s not like there’s anything else going on here.”

At those words, my heart feels like it’s being squeezed. I swallow the lump that had formed in my throat, and manage to reply, “I know. I’m just trying to make things less awkward. You seemed really upset.”

Shaking his head, he looks into my eyes. “I’m fine, Granger. This whole thing with you being my bodyguard… it’s just messing with me a bit. You’re different than I expected you to be.”

“How so?” I ask, my heart beating frantically in my chest.

_ Please let it be in a good way. Please tell me that you didn’t expect to like me, that you didn’t expect to want me like this. _

“It’s a good different. I don’t know how to explain it.” He pauses and then presses his lips to my forehead. “You’re sweet and sexy and surprisingly funny. And even though we’ve sniped at each other a bit, I thought this whole experience would be miserable because of our past.”

I’d lost track of his words after ’sexy’, my mind fixating on the sex part of it.

And then I couldn’t hold it back. My word vomit started spewing everywhere. “Gods, Malfoy, you drive me crazy. You’re surly and snarky and I thought you’d still be the same entitled prat I knew from Hogwarts, but you’re not. You’re hilarious and sexy and I love it when you call me sugar quill, even if it’s the weirdest nickname I’ve ever heard.”

I manage to stop myself before this part comes out:  _ And, for the love of Godric, why are we talking and fighting and not kissing right now? Why are you not ripping this shirt off of me? Can’t you show me what it’s like to morph this passion into pleasure, the way you said Ron should’ve? _

Draco smiles at me, and this time it actually reaches his eyes. “Well, sugar quill, it’s like you said yesterday — we can find each other attractive without wanting to fuck each other, right? I know you’d never actually want to shag me.” I open my mouth to speak and he presses his index finger to my lips. “No need to explain, Granger. You have your thing with Krum, and once you’re gone, I’ll resume my normal lifestyle. I’m so glad I’ve gotten to know you, though. I think we’re going to be really great friends.”

For a moment, before he had spoken again, I’d debated sucking his finger into my mouth. And then, as usual, he had to ruin everything. He was actually eager to return to his parade of groupies, and all of the flirting and touching had been meaningless. Just Malfoy being himself. We were friends. He’d said it — I wasn’t misconstruing his signals. 

I step back from him. “Of course. Friends who find each other attractive.”

He nods and smirks. “And I’ll definitely be enlisting your help to ward off the likes of Pansy and Astoria whenever possible. You absolutely slayed them.”

Picking up the discarded BlackBerry again, I try to smile and say, “I’ll be right there. I just need to update Harry and let him know we’re back in the room. I forgot to do it when we got back.”

I can see a look of hesitation in his eyes as he turns to leave the room. I close the door behind him and grab my wand, putting up my own Silencing Charm and praying he’ll grant me a few moments of privacy.

I sink to the floor and dial Ginny, not Harry, needing to talk to another female. She answers on the first ring, and I quickly tell her the details of the flirting, the match, and the party.

“How has it only been two days, Hermione? That’s… a lot,” she replies.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my tears. “I know. It’s a fuckload. I should’ve shut it down as soon as I started enjoying the flirting.”

Ginny laughs. “You need to back off now, Hermione. You know that, right? You can’t let him hang on you like you’re his girlfriend or banter with him the way you have been.”

“But here’s what I don’t get, Gin. If he’s not interested in me, why was he so bloody mad about Viktor? It makes no sense.”

“Oh, he’s into you, Hermione. It’s one of two things. He either hasn’t fully accepted it yet or he really wants to keep being a playboy,” she answers. “I bet if you back off, he’ll start chasing you again.”

I think about her answer for a minute. It makes sense, but it’s still not all that satisfactory. Why should I have to play this game if we’re both interested in each other? We’re not teenagers anymore. In the background, I hear James start crying.

“You know, Gin, I love my godson, but I wish you and Harry would’ve waited another year. If you had, you’d be on this damn team with Malfoy, and I’d’ve been hanging out with you tonight and not paying him any mind. I would’ve let him chat up all the girls at the party, and you and I could’ve just made fun of them together,” I groan. Draco knocks on the door, startling me. “I’ve got to go, Gin. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Gods, you’re going to get shagged by Malfoy, and I’m at home with the Chosen baby. When did your life get more exciting than mine?” Ginny complained and hung up before I could correct her — I was absolutely not going to get shagged by Malfoy. He’d stuck me in the friend zone. I send her a text saying as much.

Another knock breaks the silence, and I open the door. Silver eyes dart up and down my form. “Are you okay? It’s been a bit and I didn’t want to take your Silencing Charm down in case you were discussing something work-related with Potter.”

“I’m fine. Ginny wanted to tell me about something James did today. He’s starting to crawl and get into everything,” I lie, feeling a bit bad that I was using my godson as an excuse.

My phone pings with a response from Ginny — “We’ll see. My Galleons are on a celebratory shag after England beats Ireland.”

_ Two days from now. Good Godric, please let her be right. _

“Well, are you ready to teach me all about these animations, Golden Girl? I know how you love to lecture,” he teases playfully.

I fake a smile and follow him out of my room. “Sure, Malfoy. I’ll teach you about cartoons since you’re a man-child.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next morning, I wake up in a pair of strong arms, a masculine scent filling my nostrils. My eyes pop open wide, and I shift a bit. I can see there is a television on — cartoons — and I remember settling in to watch some ridiculous show with Draco last night. I didn’t really know when I’d fallen asleep, but I could clearly recall sitting almost two feet apart on the bed, even if I had gotten under the blankets. I must have fallen asleep, and he didn’t wake me to go into my own room…

And now he was wrapped around me, one arm under my neck and the other draped over my waist and angled up towards my breasts, a very prominent erection nestled against my arse. Tentatively, I moved my hips to try to distance myself, but instead, I found myself rubbing against the bulge when he tightened the hold he had on me. His hard cock pressing into me reignites the desire I’d felt the night before and I know I have to make my escape before he realizes we’ve spent the night spooning. 

But then he rocks his hips towards me and pulls me somehow closer, eliciting a whimper from me and a grunt from himself. I feel him take a deep breath, his face in my hair, before his hand finds my breast. And then he grinds his cock against me again, and I meet his movement, shamelessly begging for more friction. He must be awake at this point, right? How could he not be?

I somehow manage to turn over in his arms, dropping down to my back, and when I look at his face, he’s definitely still asleep. Disappointment floods through me, and I settle for just laying in his arms, not willing to continue dry humping him in his sleep since that would be more than a little weird. I’m not some wanton woman who just rubs herself against an unconscious man.

Draco’s face is so relaxed and sleep and he almost looks like he’s smiling, like he knows what I just did and he’s happy I’ve thrown myself at him. I wouldn’t be shocked if that was true — he’s always loved attention in any form. I snuggle into the pillows, accepting that I’m going to have a bit of a lie-in since he’s still fast asleep and I don’t want to disturb him.

* * *

A bit later, I’m woken by soft lips on my forehead and a murmuring.

“..so sorry, Granger. I don’t want to be friends. I want you to be mine.”

Not wanting to feign sleep, I try to gently flutter my eyes open, like I’m just waking for the first time. His arm is still around my waist and he’s looking down at me.

“Morning,” I grumble, my voice not cooperating.

Draco smiles and drops another kiss to my forehead, and I want to pull him down to my lips, to tell him that I want him to be mine, too. However, he didn’t mean to tell me that, so I let it go. Maybe Ginny’s right — if I back off, he’ll be afraid of losing what we have, and he’ll go full Malfoy squash any doubts about what he wants.

“Morning, gorgeous. What time is the Portkey to Ireland?” he asks.

I blink a few times, desperately trying to remember. “Noon, I think. I need coffee. My brain doesn’t work properly without it.”

He glances at the clock and says, “It’s nearly nine. As much as I’ve enjoyed cuddling with you this morning, we should probably get a move on. I’ll order breakfast while you wake up a bit more. Coffee and what else?”

I tell him to have them send up eggs, bacon, and toast for me and his eyes twinkle. I wonder if he’s ever had a woman eat a real meal in his presence. Yesterday, I’d only had toast, and I’d hardly touched my dinner the first night.

“Stay right where you are, sugar quill. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed when it gets here,” he says with a smile, and I swoon.

Just like one of the groupies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to finish up Chapter 8 this weekend, but I have to try to get my NaNo words in first. I've written just about 26,000, but I took 3 days off this week.
> 
> The next chapter may come a bit late, but it'll be up by the end of the month! 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the love you've shown this story thus far. It was just supposed to be a little stress reliever for me, an opportunity to write something a bit less heavy, but I've really been enjoying it, so there may be more attempts at humor to come!


	8. Chapter Eight - Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to coyg_81 and DrunkOnAmortentia for giving this a read.. you ladies are wonderful!

When I wake up, there is someone in bed with me, and I distinctly remember Granger chasing off any females that came near me last night. Whoever is spooned against me is slender and warm and has a nice curve to their bum. And that curved bum is pressed against my groin, my erection straining towards it. 

Opening my eyes, I see brown curls and Viktor fucking Krum’s name across her back. It all comes rushing back to me, and I bury my nose in her hair before inhaling. Nearly groaning at the scent alone, I pull her even closer, and she lets out a tiny moaning sound that makes me wonder what she sounds like when she comes. Her hips shift against me, gently grinding against my hard cock, and I want to take her right then and there.

I have to get up and get out of this bed. I need to go and wank again before she wakes up. Last night, she’d fallen asleep and her head had been on her own pillow. This morning, however, she is fully on mine like we’d been drawn together in our sleep, seeking body heat and comfort from one another. My arm is draped over her waist, and her fingers are laced through mine, holding tightly to my hand in her sleep. I move her hair to the side and press a gentle kiss to the back of her neck, right above where that fucking wanker’s name is written across her shoulders.

I flex my fingers and her grip loosens, allowing me to pull away. Slowly, I extricate each of my limbs from the tangled jumble between us. Rolling out of bed, I head to the bathroom to deal with my morning wood, wishing for about the fiftieth, or maybe five hundredth, time that she was not off limits.

Once that problem is taken care of, I climb back into bed, observing her in her sleep like I’m some kind of obsessive serial killer. I wrap my arm back around her small waist, wanting to hold her once more. Surely this is okay and not weird at all; she slept in my arms through the night. Her eyelids are fluttering and she’s turned over onto her back, her arms above her head in what looks like a very uncomfortable position. I glance at the clock and notice it’s half eight — we’ll need to start getting ready soon. Allowing myself just a few more minutes of Hermione Granger in my bed, I sigh. 

Last night, when I told her we were just friends who found each other attractive, I had seen the hurt in her eyes. While I was surprised by it, I also couldn’t deny it made me feel like a god. The Golden Girl had looked at me with lust in her dark eyes, and I’d pushed her away, seemingly rejecting her. And then I think about Krum, about how she’s already got one international Quidditch player firmly wrapped up in her knickers, stopping by for a shag whenever he’s in town.

She deserves so much more than that, and right now, I’d likely be the same way when it wasn’t the off-season. I mean, I’d make damn sure to get back to London and make her scream more than once a bloody year, but I’d still be gone more often than I was home, and that wouldn’t be fair to her. Or even to me, really, because I’d just be thinking about her whenever I wasn’t at home. 

I lean down and press my lips lightly to her cheek, her temple, her forehead, murmuring, “I’m sorry I’m not ready for this yet, that I can’t give you what you deserve. I’m so fucking sorry, Granger. I don’t want to be friends. I want you to be mine.”

I punctuate my apology with another kiss to her forehead, and her eyes flutter open a few times before staying that way, engulfing me in their endless dark depths. “Morning,” she rasps, her voice still thick from sleep.

She’s absolutely adorable. I lean down and kiss her forehead again, prompting her to smile again.

“Morning, gorgeous. What time is the Portkey to Ireland?”

I watch as she tries to remember, clearly not quite alert yet. “Noon, I think. I need coffee. My brain doesn’t work properly without it.”

Making a show of looking at the clock, I say, “It’s nearly nine. As much as I’ve enjoyed cuddling with you this morning, we should probably get a move on, sugar quill. I’ll order breakfast while you wake up a bit more. Coffee and what else?”

Much to my shock, she requests eggs, bacon, and toast, and I smile down at her. She’s only eaten small amounts at the meals we’ve shared thus far.

“Stay right where you are, Granger. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed when it gets here,” I state, knowing I’m being way too transparent with my feelings at the moment and hoping she sees all of it as friendly gestures rather than something more.

I jump off the bed and stride into the sitting area, lifting the phone to order our room service. I request that it be on a bed tray, and they tell me it’s not an issue. Leaning on the doorframe, I look at Granger again. She’s sitting upright in the bed and has her BlackBerry in her hands, and her fingers furiously moving across the minuscule keys. 

“Potter?” I ask, making her jump.

She smirks at me. “Yes, but not the one you’re thinking of.”

I groan, thinking of Potter’s wife. If she hadn’t just given birth, the English team would be even stronger. “Is she enjoying being a mummy?”

“She’s jealous that I’m here and she’s not,” Granger answers before turning her attention back to the device and laughing.

I find myself wondering what could possibly be funny about soiled nappies and baby spit-up. That was the kind of shite, pun intended, that Ginny Potter was dealing with now. Or… could Granger be talking to her friend about me? I knew about texting — a way to have private conversations that wouldn’t be overheard — and that was clearly what she was up to.

When she finally looks back up, I raise an eyebrow at her and watch as her cheeks color. 

“What?” she asks, the blush on her cheeks now nearly as red as that horrible fucking shirt.

Rolling my eyes, I respond, “What could possibly be that funny? I mean, she can’t be leading a very exciting life back in England with Potter’s spawn.”

Granger shoots me a glare. “They’ve got a perfectly wonderful life, Malfoy. Just because you’re not ready to be a one witch kind of man doesn’t mean that others feel the same way.”

_ Oh, I’m ready. Seeing you in my bed, I’m more ready than I’ve ever been.  _

“And again, I’ll remind you that you don’t actually know anything about my dating life. You’ve not bothered to ask,” I reply coolly.

Setting the BlackBerry down on the bed, she crosses her arms over her chest. “And I’ll remind you that I do read all the papers. I don’t need to ask. You’re pictured with a different witch each week, Dra—Malfoy.”

My fingers grip the top of the doorframe, my knuckles white. I lean forward, my head and torso entering the master bedroom again, stretching my back muscles out. My shirt rides up, exposing my lower abdomen and the waistband of my joggers, and her eyes instantly flicker to the muscle there. 

_ I know I’ve got you intrigued, Granger. When will you just give in and jump me so I can tell Blaise it was all your fault? _

”Eyes up here,  _ Hermione _ . I know it’s a  _ pleasure _ to ogle my assets, but—“

“Fucking hell, not that pleasure bullshit again!” she growls, flopping back onto the bed, and I know it’s had its intended effect.

Chuckling, I say, “Does it make you want me, Granger? Does it make you wish I would climb on top of you right this very second and give you that  _ pleasure _ ?”

Bolting upright again, she absolutely murders me with her eyes. “Absolutely not!” 

I’m about to retort when there’s a knock at the door to the suite. I stand and head over, but I’m suddenly hit with an  _ Impedimenta _ , nearly halting my progress. I can’t even turn my head properly to say  _ what the hell, Granger _ ?

“Malfoy, there is a security protocol to follow. Anyone could be at that door!” 

As she walks by me, she unfreezes me and I nearly fall to the floor since I was mid-step. Waving her wand over the door, I see a shimmer of magic appear and then disappear, likely forming some type of invisible shield. She opens the door and, just like I thought it would be, it’s the room service delivery. She thanks the man profusely before closing the door.

When she turns around, I’m scowling at her, and she nearly starts laughing. “I swear, Malfoy, I’ll go get back in the bed right now. Just pretend this never happened. Really, it’s so sweet that you wanted to do this for me.”

Intuitively, I know she’s not intending to be condescending, but it feels like she is. I sigh and carry the tray into the bedroom in her wake, setting it down in front of her. She smiles at me warmly, and it’s like the conversation we were having has completely vanished. I uncover the two plates and sit across from her, the tray on the bed between us.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “I’m actually famished.”

Even though she’d half-ruined my plans, I say, “You’re welcome, Hermione. It was my—”

She holds her fork like a wand, waving at me. “Do  _ not _ finish that sentence, Draco.”

I laugh and smile, and she does the same. We eat our breakfast in companionable silence, and once it’s cleared away, she gets out of the bed. “I’m heading back to my room to pack up and get dressed. You should do the same, Malfoy. We need to be ready when that Portkey activates.”

I’m surprised that she never once asked how she ended up sleeping in my bed all night, though she’s probably put two and two together. Brightest Witch of the Age and all that rot.

Nodding at her, I head for my bathroom, not wanting to watch her walk out of the room in that fucking shirt. My jealousy is irrational, I know it is, but  _ fuck _ , I had an epic orgasm to a vision of her in  _ my _ jumper, and then she had to fucking wear  _ that _ in my bed.

Slowly, I pack up everything in my room before getting dressed. Summoning charms made packing relatively easy, and I had undetectable extension charms on all of my luggage. I was sure Granger did, too; she’d given interviews about how she, Potter, and Weasley had survived during the war, and I remember the tiny handbag that had come to Malfoy Manor with them.

Before exiting the bedroom, I take one last look at the bed, the bed we’d shared for a night, and I sigh. Feeling like a lovesick teenager is not normal for me, but it turns out I have a weakness for curly brown hair, and brown eyes, and huge fucking brains. When they’re all included in a sexy little package with an enormous attitude and a great arse, I’m a goner. 

* * *

When we arrive in Ireland a couple of hours later, we’re in another hotel suite with two bedrooms. I want to say something to entice her to share my bed, like ‘ _ Oh, Granger, I slept so well with you last night. Why don’t you just come in here again? Friends who find each other attractive cuddle all the time! _ ’, but it sounds lame to my own ears. 

Obsession. I recalled Blaise’s words from the night before, ‘ _ you’ll be so obsessively focused on her and what she wants _ .’

I snort a laugh. He thought I’d have to fuck her to get that way, but I’m basically already there and I haven’t even kissed her on the mouth.

Again, I unpack and lounge on the bed, keeping to myself. I reopen the book I had been reading the very first day of this godforsaken European tour of torture, trying not to think of her or go running to her. She knows I like to go to the pitch to scope it out, so I’m sure she’ll come and get me when she’s ready to leave. I can be patient and wait for her.

An hour later, she knocks on the door — when had I closed it? — and I tell her to enter.

She leans her hip against the dresser and crosses her arms over her chest again. “So did you want to do anything other than going to the pitch?”

“Don’t you want to keep me out of the public eye until the match like in France?” I ask her.

She shrugs. “Ireland is a bit different. I feel like most of the people here know more about Voldemort’s regime than the idiotic French wizards who didn’t lend a bloody hand when we needed it.”

Swallowing hard, I look up at her. “Sometimes, I think I deserve all of this. The threats, the crazies—”

“You don’t,” she cuts me off. “You were a teenager, Draco. We all were. We never should’ve been involved to the extent we were. None of us — you included. Your parents should have shielded you from all of it.”

My heart contracts and speeds up. Her tone is so serious, and I watch her approach me, sitting beside me on the bed. She grabs my left arm and turns it over, the remnants of the Dark Mark still visible. Her fingers gently run over it, stroking the skin and raising gooseflesh. 

“You were used as a pawn almost as much as Harry was,” she says quietly. “It was just for the other side because of your birth, Draco. Something you couldn’t control any more than I could control being born a witch to Muggle parents.”

Her words are intended to soothe me, but they almost make me feel worse. I’d taunted her about her blood status for years, and though I’d already apologized, I felt horrible about it all over again. When I open my mouth to start speaking, she shakes her head. “Don’t apologize again, Draco. I don’t need you to.”

In that moment, I want to lean forward and kiss her. Or take her into my arms and just hold her. Or pin her down on the bed and tease her until she begs me to fuck her. But I don’t do any of those things. Instead I maneuver my left arm, the one her hand is still on, so that I can hold her hand. It feels so natural to lace my fingers through hers now, and I don’t ever want that feeling to go away.

After a moment, she stands and tugs on my arm. “I have an idea. You might not like it, but I think it will be fun.”

“Granger, your idea of fun is reading about spell theory,” I taunt.

She playfully pouts at me, and I want to suck her lip into my mouth so bad it physically hurts. “That’s not true. That’s for my mastery classes,” she tells me. “I can be fun with the right person.”

“And you think I’m the right person?”

Biting down on the lip that I still want to devour, she thinks for a moment. “Maybe you could be.”

_ Oh, fuck, I want to be. I want to be that person. _

“So let’s go and you can fly around—”

“Will you be flying with me?” I ask, and I can hear the hopeful lilt in my voice.

Hermione smiles at me. “With you or beside you?”

“Either,” I answer and then add, “but I’d prefer to have you with me. It was fun last time.”

She smiles at me for just a moment. As we start to walk out of my bedroom, I hear a buzzing sound and she pulls the BlackBerry out of her back pocket with her free hand. When she reads whatever’s on the screen, she grins even wider and laughs. 

“I’ll fly with you, but then you have to come somewhere with me. And you can’t complain about it,” she says, making me wonder what I’ll be getting myself into.

Obviously I have no choice but to agree. I’m not going to pass up the chance to have her pressed against my body on a broomstick again, even if it means I’ll be thrusting into my own hand again tonight. 

“You’ve got a deal, sugar quill,” I reply, flashing her a charming smile. 

With a sideways glance to me, she smirks and spins, taking us to the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

She just climbs on my broom of her own freewill, no coaxing or pulling required. I wrap an arm tightly around her waist and take off, flying faster than I had the previous time. Her hair is in a braid, so it’s not whipping me in the face. My eyes are still scanning the surroundings, but my focus is definitely split between the Golden Girl in my arms and thoughts of the Golden Snitch. 

I honestly don’t know which one I want to capture more.

Normally, there would be no contest. I’d be focused on the Snitch, trying to get the tiny ball and secure victory for England. In this moment, though, I’m feeling conflicted.

“What do you see today?” she asks, and it prompts me to start looking more closely.

I start flying leisurely laps around the pitch, pointing out various things that I’ll use in tomorrow’s match to try to find the snitch. Unlike last time, she’s relaxed, leaning back against me with her fingers between mine on her waist. I can tell she’s listening to me intently, so I keep talking and looking for more things to point out.

Once I run out of landmarks to use and other general commentary, I ask, “So where are we going next?”

“Well, a friend of mine has a pub nearby. I thought we could go and blow off a little steam,” she states, and she sounds nervous. “It’s a wizarding pub and it’s right around the corner actually. I’m sure most of the Irish team and your teammates will show up there tonight.”

“I’m not getting pissed tonight. I have to be up early with no hangover. I haven’t had a workout in days,” I reply.

“No, of course not! I wasn’t planning on getting drunk. There is live music and food. I figured we could grab a pint or two and just relax.”

I think for a moment. Music. That means we could dance again, and I know I’d like that...

Starting to descend back to the pitch, I tell her I’ll go after I fly a bit on my own. She smiles when she gets off my broom and heads over to the stands. While I’m flying, I surreptitiously look down at her. She’s got her little BlackBerry in her hands and is furiously typing away. 

I’m also trying to find the perfect spot for her tomorrow, somewhere where I can see her without much problem. Once I’ve picked it out, I fly back down and lead her to it. “I want you here so I can see you, sugar quill. You’ll be my good luck charm.”

Hermione’s cheeks flush at my nickname, just like always, and she agrees to make that her spot. Once I’m ready to go, she takes my hand and Apparates us directly into the pub. I can see the stereotypical Irish regalia, but also golden lions and I figure out who owns the pub before he even comes out from behind the bar.

“Hermione!” Seamus Finnegan greets her with a hug, picking her up and spinning her around. “It’s been years! You’re looking well!”

“Thanks, Shea,” she says, smiling at him.

“You remember Malfoy, I’m sure.”

_ Malfoy. Not Draco. Not this is my friend Draco. Just a reminder of school and the wanker I was. _

Regardless of all that, I put my hand out to shake and he tentatively releases Hermione and takes it. “Of course. What are you doing with  _ him _ , Hermione?”

Before she can answer, I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to me again. “She’s been hired to guard my body during the tournament. Surely you know I’m the English Seeker.”

“Only because Harry wanted to be an Auror,” he spits.

“Shea, we’re not at Hogwarts anymore. Malfoy has been nothing but respectful to me all week,” Hermione interjects. “We’d like to have dinner and stay for a bit, but if it’s going to be a problem—”

He puts on a tight smile. “Anything for you, love.”

Seeing the way he looks at her makes me want to punch him. And he’s calling her love.

“So, you’re just working with him?” the Irish git asks.

“Basically,” she begins, and I want to snog her right in front of him. “But I think we might actually like each other. It’s kind of strange.”

His eyes bulge and I smirk. “Yeah, I’m a big fan of Granger. She’s gorgeous and brilliant and actually quite fun to be around when she lets her hair down.” Dropping a kiss to the top of her head, I add, “So, do you have a table for me and my little sugar quill?”

His cheeks are red, and I don’t know if it’s from embarrassment or jealousy, but I’m happy about it. “Yeah, there’s one right over here. I’m assuming the Irish team will be in soon so you may want to keep a low profile unless your mates are coming too.”

“Okay,” Hermione responds. “Thanks, Seamus. Really, this is a nice little place you’ve got.”

“I’m going to bring you two one of my special drinks. Lots of flame!” 

She laughs. “Of course there’s fire involved. How could there not be with you?!”

When he’s gone, we slide into the table with a curved, semi-circular booth. They’re not space efficient, but in this moment, I’m glad to be at this kind of table. I scoot in next to her, and our knees are touching. For a moment, I get nervous she’ll pull away, but she doesn’t.

“So I’m sure whatever he brings us is going to be lethal. Absolutely loaded with liquor. I do have some Sober-Up and the Portkey to the hotel with me,” Hermione muses. “Should we let ourselves have a little bit of fun?”

Smiling at her, I tease, “Oh, Granger, are you trying to get me drunk?”

She looks me square in the eyes, her deep brown irises swallowing me whole. I’m completely lost when she says, “Oh, absolutely.” 

Every hesitation I’d felt about getting pissed earlier just flies out the window. 

* * *

From that point forward, Hermione is all I see. Her smile, her curls, her eyes that turn from sparkling to glassy as we consume the flaming drink from Finnegan. We laugh and tease and joke and she gets closer and closer to me. Somehow, as the minutes pass, her body ends up turned towards me and one of her legs is across my lap. I think about last night — Merlin, was it only last night? — when I zoned out just staring at her toned legs in my bed, wishing I could grab her thighs and spread them wide. Unfortunately, right now, she’s wearing jeans and I can’t see her bare skin.

Her BlackBerry is on the table and it starts vibrating, dancing across the surface. She makes a clumsy grab for it and smiles at whatever she reads.

“What’s going on?” 

With a giggle, she says, “Oh, nothing, just Ginny checking in on me, making sure we’re getting on okay.”

Trying to be smooth, I ask, “Oh? And are we?”

“We’ll see,” she answers. “It depends on how much fun we let ourselves have tonight.”

I find her words confusing, the alcohol in my bloodstream already soaking into my brain. I think I can remember her saying we’d just grab a couple pints, but whatever Finnegan’s given us is clearly very strong. We’ve shared two very large mixed drinks, and we’re half way through a third. Food hasn’t really been a thought yet, though I’m beginning to see that Granger will need to eat soon. She’s swaying in her seat, and I can’t tell if it’s intentional or not. Swallowing down the last portion of the third drink, she does a little shimmy and unties the bow at the bottom of her braid, shaking her curls loose. Her hair is wild and sexy and I just want to tangle my fingers in it and press her lips to mine until we’re breathing the same exact air.

Smirking at me, Hermione somehow gets to her feet. I’m thankful she’s not one of the foolish chits who always wears stilettos around — she’d surely have fallen over. “Come on, Malfoy,” she beckons with both her words and a crook of her index finger. “Let’s dance!”

She starts swaying and twirling, laughing like she’s having the time of her life. I know she isn’t; the time of her life would likely be spent with Potter or the Weasel or bloody fucking Krum, but I can’t resist her. I get up from the booth and let her lead me in a dance, making it up as we go along. I soon hear my own laugh mingling with hers, and before I can even realize it, we’re having fun, just dancing like we’re normal twenty-somethings, not the children of war or all that buggering nonsense.

When the band slows down, I pull Hermione into my arms, holding her close, and press a kiss on her forehead. We slowly move along to the music, and I feel her lips graze my neck. There is a growing problem forming in my trousers, and it’s only worsened when I feel her tongue dart out. Knowing I should put a stop to it, I exhale sharply.

“Hermione…” She kisses the same spot again, and I say, “Granger, please don’t. We can’t. I won’t do that to you.”

“Do what?” 

I take half a step back and tilt her face up towards mine. “I won’t just breeze into town between matches and be your fuck buddy, Granger. I’m not Krum.”

There are so many people around, but she’s looking up at me, and I’ve basically just told her I want her as something more than a fuck buddy. She hasn’t said anything in return, but she doesn’t have to. I can see it written across her face, plain as day. So bloody open about what she wants, just like last night when I told her we were friends who found each other sexy. Her glassy eyes have blown pupils, begging me to kiss her, to just smash my lips against hers. Looking around the room, I see a few others — Wood, Robbins, Finnegan, and Thomas — and they’re watching us.

_ Why is everyone always watching us? _

I don’t want to be in a crowded bar with an audience the first time I kiss her, so I just pull her closer, pressing her head into my chest, kissing the top of her head once more. I feel her huff of disappointment, and it tugs at my conscience. We’re in this together, but she’s willing to take risks. Hell, she came to this pub with the intention of drinking, likely to lower our inhibitions a bit. She almost admitted it.

The song ends and she pulls away, leaving my arms empty again. I see her wild curls bouncing as she moves to the bar, likely going to order up another lethal cocktail. As soon as she reaches the bar, Wood sidles up next to her and I’m so angry with myself. I can see that he’s trying to move closer and chat her up. However, she just grabs two pints of Guinness and returns to our booth. Taking the BlackBerry from her pocket again, she taps out another message.

“Granger, are you cross with me?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Not really. I should’ve realized… it doesn’t matter. I’m no good at this.” 

She starts drinking her beer, and I pick mine up, as well. I don’t know how to handle her; if I give in and start kissing her, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop. If I keep her at a distance, she’ll keep thinking I don’t actually want this.

And I do. I really, really do.

Inside, I’m hoping that she relents and just kisses me instead of waiting for me to kiss her, but I’m not sure she will.

“Do you want to get something to eat? I think we probably should,” I say lamely.

She shrugs. “Sure. Let’s have something and then go back to the room. I know you have an early start tomorrow.”

Something else strikes me in that moment — she’s letting herself get drunk, and we’re out in public. I’ve no doubt that the witch could blast most people back even completely pissed, but it’s not like her to shirk her responsibilities. Luckily, I’m not so drunk that I can’t realize the potential dangers.

Hermione saunters back to the bar to place our food order, and I’m staring at her arse, and I feel like the dumbest wanker who’s ever walked the Earth. She wants me. I’ve somehow managed to make her want me, which is what I set out to do from the beginning, and now I’m fucking it all up by trying to wait. 

I rub my face with both my hands and think. I need to figure this out before we get back to the hotel. Remembering waking up with her this morning, I know I want to do that again. And again. And again. Every day. I’ve always been fascinated by her in one way or another, and now I know that I want to make her mine. She’s willing and just waiting, but how long will she wait for?

When she sits back down, she sends another message to someone. “Seamus said they’d get the food to us as soon as possible.” 

I clear my throat. “Want to dance again, sugar quill? If we have a few minutes, we can have some more fun until then.”

Smiling at me, Hermione shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. We can just stay here. I know everyone is watching us and you’re uncomfortable with that.”

She’s misconstruing this, but I don’t know how to fix it, so I just sit there like a bloody idiot, waiting for our food to get there. I can feel her getting more and more emotional, her texting increasing in frequency.

“I’m going to the loo,” she says, getting up from the booth. I just nod.

Once she’s out of sight, Wood comes over to sit in her place. “What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy? That girl, she’s amazing, and for whatever fucking reason, she wants you. Why are you not taking her back to the hotel and shagging her half to death?”

“Because I don’t want it to be just shagging, Oliver. You know how often we’re gone,” I admit. “She’s had a thing with another pro and I don’t want to be the same as he has.”

Wood rolls his eyes. “Then sign on with a local team. They’d all have you. You don’t need to keep traveling.”

“I know, but I need to make that happen first,” I answer.

“I’m just going to throw this out there. She’s basically offering herself up to you. She was begging you to kiss her. I’m willing to bet she’s not the type that does that often. I don’t think her pride will allow her to just pine for you, Malfoy,” he says. “Don’t fuck it up, because someone else will scoop her up so fast.”

The thought of another person, one of my teammates or another Quidditch pro or even fucking Weasley, stealing her away from me while I’m making plans makes me feel ill. 

When she returns, her eyes look a bit clearer, and I wonder if she’s taken her Sober-Up, liquid courage no longer required since I’d already basically rejected her. The food arrives a few minutes after, breaking the awkward silence, and she picks at her meal.

I take a deep breath. “Hermione, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asks, but we both already know what I’m apologizing for. 

I reach over and take her hand. “For everything,” I say, bringing her knuckles to my lips and kissing each one. “I’ll explain when we get back to the room. I promise.”

Nodding, she returns her attention to her food, eating a bit more than she had been before. We both finish our beer and food, and she exits the booth, extending her hand to me. I take it, stand, and pull her in close again, making her dance with me once more. When she smiles up at me again, I ask if she has the Portkey. She produces it from her pocket and we clutch it between us. 

With a tap of her finger, we’re taken back to the hotel room, and when we arrive, she’s looking up at me in the same way she had while we were dancing. In that moment, I say fuck it, and capture her lips. The sound she makes when I do is the most alluring thing I’ve ever heard, like a moan of relief. Like she’s wanted this from the moment she arrived in my flat.

My hands immediately travel down to her arse and grab it, lifting her up so she can circle her legs around my waist. Her hands are everywhere, running through my hair, gripping my shoulders, her nails somehow scratching paths up and down my back. She flexes and grinds against me and I start walking towards the bedroom, my brain and my heart short-circuiting. All of my senses are consumed by Hermione Granger, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Setting her down on the bed, I crawl between her legs, quickly finding her lips again. She arches up against me and I groan. My hands start pulling her shirt off, not bothering to explore the curves of her body over the clothing. Breaking the kiss, I sit back on my knees and she follows, allowing me to pull the shirt over her head. Her bra is pink and lacy and way more feminine than I ever would’ve imagined, and I start kissing down her chest.

Hermione grabs my shirt and soon it joins her on the floor, baring my torso to her. Her hands run over my abs and then up my bare back. “Your body is insane,” she groans, and I smirk against her collarbone as I suck on it.

“I work hard, so I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I tease.

I push her back down to the bed, seeing her curls spread across the white hotel sheets, and I groan. “I imagined this, your hair against white sheets, and now you’re here.”

Kissing her again, my hands roam up to her breasts, tweaking her nipples and groping. She arches up and reaches behind her with one hand, opening the clasp of her bra. I move it aside and my lips wrap around her nipple, making her squirm. I snake a hand down to the button of her jeans and start fumbling with it like I’m a teenager doing this for the first time. The haze of alcohol has lessened for both of us, but it’s still present, and it’s making me rush through this part.

I feel her hand swat me out of the way, and she undoes it herself. Not willing to wait, my hand finds my way into her knickers and I run a finger along her slit; it comes away wet, and I need to feel her around me. I roll onto my side, facing her with my hand down her pants. Her eyes are dark and she’s panting. 

“I should’ve asked,” I manage to say. “Can I touch you, Hermione?”

With a smirk, she replies, “I’m sure if you do, you’ll bring me great  _ pleasure _ .”

To prove her point, I slip two fingers inside of them and start seeking out her g-spot. When a loud cry escapes her mouth, I kiss her again and her fingers weave into the hair at the back of my head. I work her to climax, kissing her and fucking her with my fingers. I feel her release against my hand, and I want to slide inside of her. When her eyes open again, I feel her reaching for my belt. 

_ We’re really going to do this. I’m about to fuck Hermione Granger. _

I know I shouldn’t — I should take my time, slow things down, but then her hand is on my cock and I just can’t.

I pull away and stand up to start taking her pants off, sucking my fingers into my mouth to taste her, and she says, “Can you grab my bag? I’m really drunk and I want to remember this tomorrow.”

Immediately, I freeze. “You’re… we’re only doing this because you’re drunk?”

She sits up. “No, Draco, we’re doing this because we want to.”

I can see her tits and smell her pussy on my fingers and I’m hard as a rock, but for some reason, I think I need to throw the brakes on.

Sighing, I sit back down. “Granger, we’re making a mistake here. We’re rushing and—”

Before I can even register what’s happening, she’s leapt out of bed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! A mistake? That’s what I am?”

“No, not you, rushing this!”

“We’re not rushing! We’ve both wanted it for the past two days, Draco! I almost came into the room while you were showering the other night because I took down your Silencing Charm and heard you wanking! I wanted to get on my knees and—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence!” I interrupt. “Hermione—”

“No,” she spits, reaching behind her to fasten her bra and cover her breasts. “Don’t bother. I throw myself at you, just like all the others, and now you’re not even interested! I was ready to just… It doesn’t matter. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Hermione,” I try again as she picks her shirt up off the floor. “I don’t want to ruin this. I’m never home and—”

“It’s fine. I get it. We’re friends, right? Friends who find each other attractive but don’t want to fuck each other,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

And, before I can say anything else, she’s collected all of her things and stomped out, returning to her own bedroom. My cock is not pleased with my behavior, and my heart is in my throat. My brain is somewhere between amazed at my self-control and wondering if I should run after her and throw her down and fuck her.

With a sigh, I head for the shower, thinking that I’ll just make things worse if I chase her right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me! 
> 
> I promise they'll pull their heads out of their arses soon!


	9. Chapter  Nine - Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to coyg_81 and DrunkOnAmortentia for pre-reading this for me, and also to Strictly Dramione on Facebook for featuring this on WIP Wednesday.
> 
> If I go missing, someone please track StassA down. I'm worried she's going to kill me for bringing a certain someone into this chapter.

As I flee from Draco’s bedroom, his words of rejection still ringing in my ears, I curse myself and Ginevra Potter to high fucking hell. Why had I let myself get drunk and lose control? Why had I listened to Ginny when she said I just needed a bit of liquid courage?

I’d been texting with her all day, telling her about how I’d woken up in the middle of the night in his arms and how badly I’d wanted him. I told her about his words, about how he thought he wasn’t ready, and she said he just needed a nudge and he’d give in.

Clearly, Ginny hasn’t got a clue about men. It shouldn’t shock me; she’s been in love with her husband since before she went to Hogwarts, but really!

I’m drunk and upset and I slam the door to my bedroom dramatically, throwing my things down on the floor. I cover my face with my hands and half expect Draco to start pounding on the door, demanding that I act like an adult and talk to him rationally.

But he doesn’t, and that just makes me even more upset. Standing in the bedroom in my unbuttoned jeans and pink lacy bra, I can feel the room spinning a bit. I don’t know if it’s from the crying or the alcohol or a mixture, but I make my way over to the bed, flopping down and leaving one foot on the floor, the way my friend Courtney taught me to do. 

“Fuck!” I shout, hitting the mattress with my fists. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so bloody stupid!”

I wandlessly summon my handbag and, to my utter shock, it flies over to me. Even in my inebriated state, I make a mental note. I can barely do wandless magic sober. Why did it work when I was drunk? 

Opening the bag, I say, “ _ Accio _ Sober-Up Potion.” It flies into my hand and I swallow half the bottle, the room automatically slowing to stop when it hits my bloodstream.

I find my BlackBerry and text Ginny.

_ H: Terrible advice. He fingered me and kicked me out. You suck at men. _

_ G: Did you come? _

_ H: Yes, but nothing else happened. _

_ G: Patience, Hermione. Good things come to those who wait… and it seems you already got a taste *wink* _

_ H: No, I didn’t get a taste. That’s the problem. I didn’t even really get to touch him. _

_ G: I’m telling you. After the match tomorrow, he’s going to be on you like a Niffler on a Knut. _

_ H: Wouldn’t they be more drawn to Galleons? _

_ G: It’s a bloody expression! No wonder he kicked you out. Swot! _

I know her comment wasn’t meant to throw me, but it did. Did Draco still see me as the bookworm and swot everyone knew from Hogwarts? Is that why he would consider me a mistake? Did he just start kissing me because he was a little tipsy and I hadn’t let any females near him the night before? Did the proximity make him think he wanted me until we actually started fooling around?

The BlackBerry dings again.

_ G: I’ve just realized that was probably the worst thing I could’ve said.  _

_ H: You’re probably right, though. He’s a sexy professional Quidditch player, and I’m just me. He probably thinks I’d still rather read a book than shag. _

_ G: Well, he can just fuck off then. If he can’t see you’re different now, he needs his head examined. _

I think back to the bar, to the way we were talking and dancing and how his focus had never left me, even when I had been texting with Ginny.

I peel myself off of the mattress and head into the bathroom, filling the bathtub with hot water. I silence the room and knot my hair on top of my head before sinking down into the hot water. As I soak, the tears start, and I wonder what Draco’s thinking. Somewhere deep down, I realize he stopped after I admitted to being drunk. It’s entirely possible he was trying to be noble and I overreacted. 

But if that’s the case, why didn’t he come after me? Why didn’t he try to stop me from running away?

Everything feels so overwhelming, and I don’t know if I should go and talk to him or try to apologize for immediately assuming the worst. But again, he isn’t trying to talk to me, so maybe I should just leave it be. Maybe I should just forget all about the moments that made me think he wanted me, regardless of what he said when he thought I was asleep.

I let my mind spin a bit longer, and then I get out of the bath. Taking the Silencing Charm down doesn’t change anything; he’s not knocking on my door or trying to get me to come out and talk to him. With a sigh, I take a small sip of sleeping potion, knowing I wont get any rest if I don’t, and climb into bed. Even though I’d only spent one night in Draco’s bed, I find myself wishing he was here with me. 

I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning and waking up, each time listening for the sound of his footsteps or voice, but it never comes. I wonder if he’s sleeping just as poorly, if he’s barely resisting the urge to just come into my room and climb into my bed to ease the worry.

At half six, I give up and start getting ready for the day. Once I’m dressed in my Malfoy jumper and a pair of jeans, I head into the bathroom to tame my hair. I have dark circles under my eyes and it’s fairly obvious I haven’t slept well. With a sigh, I start applying makeup — something I never take the time to do — and I see myself coming to life slowly. 

Heading into the shared area, I’m on my guard, not wanting to argue with Draco. I know I have to apologize, but I’m not ready yet. However, when I step out of my bedroom, I notice his door is open. I resist the urge to peek in and look for him, settling myself on the sofa with my mastery reading. Trying to focus on the words, I force Draco out of my mind, but it’s still foggy. With a sigh, I get on my feet and head to the coffee maker, brewing a strong cup.

An hour passes, and I don’t hear a peep or a rustling of sheets. I’ve already consumed three cups of coffee in an attempt to focus and wake up, but I’m now jittery and anxious, especially since Malfoy isn’t awake yet. It’s after eight, and I’m starving, so I decide to be the bigger person and break the silence. As I’m walking towards his bedroom, the suite door opens and I quickly whip my wand out and point it in that direction, a Stunning Spell on the tip of my tongue.

Draco raises his hands in surrender, looking startled. My blood boils and I shout, “You left the fucking room?!”

Gesturing to the table by the door, he says, “I left you a note and I figured the wards would’ve told you I’d left.”

I rub my face with my hands. I hadn’t set the wards last night. When we got back to the room, I’d been so drunk and wrapped up in him that I hadn’t even thought about it. I’d failed at my job on several counts, it seems. Thank the founders we weren’t attacked last night.

“You didn’t set them last night, did you?” he asks.

Feeling embarrassed, I shake my head and sit back down on the couch.

He says, “Everything is fine, Granger. I just went down to the gym for a workout. I couldn’t sleep and needed to get out of bed.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “Have you ordered breakfast?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Malfoy gives me an insanely detailed order and leaves me to my own devices, heading to the shower. I phone down to room service to request our breakfast and wait. When it arrives, I take my bagel and retreat to my room, not able to face him after I’d admitted to leaving the place unprotected all night. I’d let desire overtake sense, and I wouldn’t do it again. I see the hurt in his eyes when he figures out we won’t be eating together, but I ignore it.

A door shuts, and I’m assuming it’s either his bedroom door or his bathroom door, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Before I can settle in, though, my BlackBerry dings and there’s an unexpected name displayed.

It appears Bulgaria won their semi-final match, and Viktor’s come to Ireland to scope out the competition. 

Fuck.

* * *

Malfoy hesitantly knocks on my door at half twelve. “Granger? Can we… I need to talk to you.”

I’m laying on my stomach atop the bed, my feet up where the pillows are resting, so I lift my head to look at him.

“Sure. What’s up?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.

He runs a hand through his hair, and I can tell he’s nervous. “Last night, I should have—”

Interrupting him, I reply, “We don’t need to talk about it, Malfoy. It won’t happen again. I’m sorry I behaved so unprofessionally.”

“So that’s it?” I’m wondering what he means, and then I hear him start talking. “I should’ve been more clear when I put a stop to things, Granger. It meant something to me, and you were drunk, and it didn’t feel like the right thing to do at the time.”

“Well, thank you for being so honorable, Malfoy,” I quipped.

Crossing his arms over his chest, a defense mechanism, he says, “What’s your problem, Granger?”

The fact that we’re hissing our surnames at each other isn’t lost on me. There’s no sugar quill, no Draco and Hermione. Just Malfoy and Granger, the two students who hated each other at Hogwarts.

“I behaved like one of those fucking groupies, and then you rejected me! That’s what’s wrong!” 

“I didn’t—”

“You did, Malfoy. I was drunk, so maybe I overreacted a bit, but you shouldn’t have started something you weren’t willing to finish. I threw myself at you, thinking you actually wanted me, and—”

“I did! I did want you! But not like that,” he answered. “I didn’t want you drunk and hurried like you were just any girl.”

Past tense. He did want me, but probably not anymore, now that he’d seen my crazy.

“Okay, you did want me. You didn’t want to shag me drunk. Got it.” I pause and then continue. “So what time are we leaving?”   
  


He lets out a sigh. “Hermione—”

“Let’s keep it professional, Malfoy. I don’t want to cross that line again.”

Stiffening, he squares his shoulders. “Let’s just go now then. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

I throw my book in my bag and holster my wand on my thigh before taking his hand. It feels different than it had before, and I almost wish I’d just linked my arm with his rather than holding his hand.

Trying my hardest to concentrate, I Apparate us to the Quidditch stadium. As soon as we’re firmly on the ground, Malfoy pulls his hand away from me and stalks into the locker room. Like the professional I should’ve been the whole time, I head straight to security, looking over their plans and finding out about the stadium’s warding. Again, I add intent lines, and it makes me feel more relaxed

When all appears normal, I head towards the stands, which are starting to fill quickly. I’m walking up towards the spot Malfoy had pointed out to me yesterday when I hear a voice calling my name.

“Ms. Granger! Please hurry! We’ve found something!”

Those words cause my stomach to flip, and I follow the man who’s frantically running towards the English national team’s locker room. I know the match is about to start, and I should be where Draco wanted me to be, but this is so much more important. Hoping there isn’t actually a threat, I try to focus on the task at hand. When we enter the locker room, there are two women Petrified, and there are several potion bottles on the sink ledge.

I try to examine the potions through the vials, but it’s nearly impossible. I uncork the first and take a sniff of it. 

  
“Lust potion,” I tell the security guard. “A strong one.”

Snickering, he looks back to the two women. “You were going to get the whole team hot and bothered?”

The women obviously can’t answer, so I move onto the next vial. As soon as it opens, I smell fresh air and new parchment and Draco’s cologne mixed with spearmint. 

“Amortentia,” I choke out.

_ Why in the hell does that smell like him now? I just want to shag him. This isn’t anything more than… _

_ Attraction. Amortentia smells like what attracts us. _

“Are there Aurors on duty? I’m sure Amortentia is a highly regulated, if not illegal, potion in this country,” I ask the security guard.

He nods and sends his Patronus, a clever looking fox, off to the Aurors. I revive one of the females and start questioning her, binding her hands with a quick  _ Incarcerous _ .

  
“What were you planning? A celebratory orgy with the entire English team?”

She giggles. “Oh, no, not the whole team. Just planning on getting Draco Malfoy to finally shag one of us.”

When I look at the girl closely, I realize she’s likely a few years younger than us, and I think I’ve seen her pictured with Malfoy before. It’s hard to tell since he seems to take carbon copies out.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

She rolls her eyes at me, and I want to hex her so badly. “He takes women out but he doesn’t sleep with them. Just pays for a meal and some wine and goes on his way.”

_ Oh, bloody hell. I’ve been calling him a womanizer and a manwhore and whatever the fuck else all week. In my head and also outloud from time to time, even when he tried to tell me I didn’t know what I was talking about. _

“He’s never…?” I trail off.

She shakes her head and scowls. “I mean, maybe once or twice, but usually it’s just a date with nothing afterwards. It’s so frustrating. Have you seen the body on that man?”

I feel my cheeks heat, thinking of how he looked last night when his shirt was off and he was nearly on top of me. I clear my throat and stand up straight. “As a matter of fact, I have,” I tell her before turning around, displaying the name across my shoulders. “I’ve been staying in his room all week.”

Her jaw drops, and I can tell her still-Petrified friend is nearly shitting herself, too. Rather than leaving her Petrified, I rouse and bind her, as well. 

This one, however, has something a whole lot different to say. “Well, I hope he survives the match. How sad it would be if you never got the chance to marry that Death Eater scum.”

Alarm bells start ringing in my head and I look over at her. “What did you just say?”

She only smirks at me as I glare at her. Two Aurors enter the locker room, and I ask if they have any Veritaserum — they don’t carry it.

I hear the match begin, and I know Draco’s somehow in trouble. 

I point my wand at the woman and silently use Legilimency on her. Focusing on searching for memories of Draco, I see him in the halls of Hogwarts with the Carrows and Snape, the only Death Eaters in the castle. He’s way too thin and looks ill, though that doesn’t surprise me. I’m viewing the raucous laughter of the Carrows through a little girl’s eyes, likely a first year at the time, and Draco scowls at her.

She’s tortured by the Carrows while Draco watches, and it’s a feeling I can relate to all too well, though I was much older than eleven or twelve.

Next, I see her out to dinner with Draco years later, and he actually looks so different he’s barely recognizable if you don’t know him well. He’s sitting across from her, smiling and flirting. She reaches out to touch him and then notices the Dark Mark on his forearm. When she recoils, he looks at her and spits, “You must have known. Malfoy is a name that will forever be linked with the Dark Lord.”

She bolts from the table, remembering her first year at Hogwarts, exposed to Death Eaters and evil on a regular basis.

Her memories jump forward to some sort of meeting where they’re planning on taking revenge on the remaining Death Eaters. Draco’s photo is on a wall, and there are descriptions of his routines when he travels, his broom make and model, his known associates… When the room empties, she walks over to the photo and strokes his cheek almost lovingly before blowing apart the whole wall with a strong  _ Reducto _ . 

I see the plan with the love and lust potions put into motion, and then she’s running towards the locker room in the dead of night. I see broomsticks being tampered with and I pull out of her mind.

  
“You crazy bitch,” I seethe. “How dare you! They’re all in danger!”

Shrugging, she says, “He deserves a lot worse than a nasty fall from a broom. They  _ Crucio’d _ me over and over again and he just watched!”

Like I had at the party, I ask, “Do you know who I am?”

She shakes her head.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” I state, and she looks just as surprised as the other bint had. “I was also  _ Crucio’d _ over and over right in front of Draco. He was a teenager and the adults were the ones torturing children. I know that’s a hard pill to swallow, that you think Draco should’ve helped you, but he was a child too.” 

“He wasn’t a child! He had the fucking Dark Mark! He still has it!” she cried.

“You were too young to understand what was really going on around you. He was a teenager, and Voldemort lived in his fucking house. What do you think you would do in that scenario? If it was your house and your parents in danger?”

She glares at me, clearly unwilling to think, just like all of the others who felt Draco had gotten off too easily.

“You need some help, and I hope you get it,” I say before rushing out towards the pitch.

* * *

When I get out of the locker room, I look to the sky. They’re all flying around already, and I don’t think there will be any way for me to stop the match. I run towards Abbott, and Viktor is standing beside him. My heart usually skips a beat when I see him, but not today. Today, the adrenaline coursing through my system is keeping my heart firmly in order.

  
“Abbott!” I yell. “The brooms have been tampered with! Someone got into the locker room last night. Draco — and the rest of the team — they’re all in danger!”

He looks at me like I’ve got twelve heads and have just birthed a hippogriff. 

“That’s not possible,” he states. “The brooms were at the hotel with me. I don’t know why you think that—”

“Practice brooms,” Viktor says. “Love, they have practice brooms. In Bulgaria, we have many sets of brooms. I’m sure they will have the same.”

My heart slows a bit and I look up again. They all appear to be flying fine.

“I’ve wanted to see you,” Viktor begins, stepping closer to me, but I’m hardly paying attention to him. “Why haven’t you come to Bulgaria?” 

Abbott clears his throat when Viktor’s hand lands on my waist. “Uh, Ms. Granger, should we go up to where Draco saved you a spot?”

  
_ Sly, Abbott. Really sly. Reminding me of Draco at a time like this. _

Keeping my eyes on the sky, I start to follow Draco’s coach, Viktor’s hand falling off of me. I don’t know if it’s because of Abbott’s comment or because I moved too swiftly. The brooms overhead are moving perfectly fine, and I resolve to keep an eye out. At the first sign of distress, I would step in.

“Hermione,” Viktor says, “I knew you were protecting Malfoy, but—”

“I’m working. You know I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” I snap.

Looking at me with a confused expression on his face, Viktor falls back, walking behind me. I can feel his eyes roaming me, from Malfoy’s name spanning my shoulders, down my torso, to my arse and legs… His dark eyes normally set my skin on fire, but I don’t feel it right now. I’m moving quickly with my arms crossed over my abdomen and my eyes on the sky.

When we get to the spot Malfoy wanted me in, I pull out my Omnioculars, scanning all of the players. I find him, and his broom is performing properly. I lean over, bracing myself on the railing, and I notice his eyes roaming the pitch, looking for the Snitch. 

But he’s not flying like he was in France. He looks frazzled and unfocused, panicked almost, and I can’t figure out why. It appears he’s determined to look everywhere but over here, over at me. He’s probably still pissed and hurt about this morning, and I’m sure my absence at the start of the match hadn’t helped things at all.

Viktor places a hand on my shoulder and moves me back to standing, looping an arm around my waist and leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I’ve missed you. I wanted you to come to Bulgaria. Why haven’t you?”

“I’ve been busy,” I reply, squirming away from his hold. “I told you I wouldn’t be coming to Bulgaria. I have too much going on and I’m trying to finish my masteries and—”

“Is there someone else now?” he asks, and I have to think for a moment. “It’s not like you to move away from me.”

With a sigh, I say, “No, there’s no one else, but I also don’t think this—” I gesture between us, “—is a good idea.” 

He smiles at me and leans in, whispering, “You and I are always a good idea. We have been since the very beginning, from the time I asked you to the Ball when you were fifteen.”

Images of Viktor, of all our moments together from my fourth year until now race through my mind. Dark hair and eyes, bulky muscles, a mouth that knew exactly what my body liked… My breathing hitches, and I look up at him. He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles, the way he’s done since I was a teenager. Lost in the moment, I don’t immediately pull away.

A second later, I hear a broom speeding by, and I catch a glimpse of platinum hair. I snatch my hand away and move my Omnioculars back to my eyes, and I can see the rage rolling off of Malfoy in waves. There is magic pulsing around him, and his focus is even worse than before. Abbott glares at me and walks away, likely feeling I’m responsible for Draco’s foul mood and poor performance, and I suppose I am.

When he finally looks back at me, he can see my Omnioculars are focused on him. 

He glares and says something that looks a lot like  _ Why? _

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write the Bulgarian accent. Imagine it in your head lol
> 
> This felt like the most natural place to switch to Draco's POV. I've finished NaNo, so hopefully we'll be back to Wednesdays for updates!


	10. Chapter Ten - Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my love to coyg81 for her time. I don't think you guys know how many words I've sent to her over the past couple of weeks!

She’s ignored me all morning, and now she’s not even where I asked her to be for the start of the match. My eyes are scanning the pitch, desperately looking for any sign of her. She’s supposed to be here, and I’ve fucked everything up by starting something with her last night. 

Wood flies over to me, seeing how my head is moving from side-to-side, and says, “Get in the game, Malfoy! Stop looking for Granger!”

He’s right. I know he’s right. I can’t look for her and the Snitch at the same time.

I fly away from Wood, not acknowledging his words at all, and fly my practice laps around the pitch. I try to keep my eyes off the crowd, but every time I see an English jumper, I can’t help myself — I look.

When we’re called to the center of the pitch, I hover and my eyes go to that damn spot again, and she’s still not there.

How can she be this fucking mad at me for not taking advantage of her when she was drunk enough to potentially not remember the night?

In that moment, I’m furious with her, as well. I try to block off my emotions, all thoughts of her, and I can’t. I just fucking can’t. 

The snitch is released and the Irish Seeker zooms off. I hadn’t noticed the direction the Snitch went in, so I revert to my Slytherin vs Gryffindor tactics, tailing the other team’s Seeker like he’s the Chosen One and I’m thirteen bloody years old again. 

My eyes are scanning, trying to catch a glimpse of the tiny golden bane of my existence, and I see Abbott standing nervously next to the entrance of the locker room. There is a large bloke with spiky dark hair beside him, and I can’t immediately place him, but he’s clearly set my coach on edge. 

Play continues like this for about ten minutes, and then I look down and Abbott’s gone. I figure he’s gone looking for Granger since I’m flying like total shite, deviating from the plan we’d set earlier and tailing rather than searching. He knows where she’s supposed to be, but I resolve not to look over there again for at least another five minutes. 

When Demelza scores a goal, I realize I don’t even know the score so far. I look to the board and see England is already up 60 to 10, thank Merlin. The Irish Chasers are good, but they’re getting older now and can’t keep up with the new blood.

I resolutely do  _ not  _ look over to where I can feel a set of eyes burning into my back; she should’ve been there at the beginning, not nearly forty minutes into the match. 

But why can I suddenly feel her eyes on me? I didn’t last time…

I decide to swoop by so I can shoot her a glare, but when I see her, she is not alone. Viktor fucking Krum is standing beside her, holding her hand to his lips and aiming a smarmy seductive smile in her direction. 

This day. This  _ fucking _ day. How could it possibly get any worse?

_ Oh, wait, I could lose the match and a shit ton of Galleons in contracts and endorsements.  _

I fly by them at a breakneck pace, and when I look back, her Omnioculars are focused on me. I just say, “Why?” 

And continue on my way, doing my damndest to block her out and focus on this match. 

* * *

An hour later, the score is 170-40, and I almost have the buffer I need. Until it hits a 160 point spread, I have to keep flying and searching like my life depends on it. 

My mind is still reeling, the jealousy and rage pervading every thought. 

_ Did she really ask him to come here because I wouldn’t fuck her? _

_ Would she really bring him back to our room after the match and have her way with him while I’m forced to stay in the suite and listen? _

_ Was she really into me at all? Or is she just another girl looking to shag the star Quidditch player without abandon for one night? _

None of those things seem true about Granger, but Krum is standing right there beside her, and I can’t fucking figure out why else he’d come to Ireland. Why is he here now when he’s not been to see her in over a year?

And then it dawns on me — he’s here to see me and hoping to squeeze in an international booty call while he’s around.

The one time we played against Bulgaria, he had been ill and I hadn't faced him. He’s watching me and hoping to learn what strategies I use, especially since he knows I’ve already seen him more than once. 

Another goal flies through the hoops. 180-40.

I resume tailing the Irish Seeker since I haven’t got a fucking clue where the Snitch is. When I look back for a moment, it seems like they’re no longer touching, and I’m praying she’s put him in his place. But again, I’m watching her and not doing what I’m supposed to be doing.

I need to find the bloody snitch.

I grip my broom and go into a dive, praying the Irish Seeker follows me. I haven’t seen anything, but I need to divert his attention, split his focus, so that we’re both just chasing air. It works, and I quickly zoom back up. I know he won’t fall for it again, so I need to pay attention now.

Ireland scores a goal. 180-50. Fuck.

Wood calls for a timeout, and the referee grants it. We all huddle near his goalposts, and my eyes dart around, looking for a glint of gold while he’s speaking. We’re at the opposite end of the pitch from Granger, so I wouldn’t be able to see her anyway.

“About fucking time you start looking for the snitch, Malfoy. Granger better have a magic pussy for you to be this messed up over her,” Wood shouts.

I grit my teeth, knowing I deserve what he’s said, even if the comment is crass. Some of my teammates raise their eyebrows at me, not believing I’d sleep with the Golden Girl, or that she’d sleep with me, but I just continue looking for the Snitch.

Wood turns to the Chasers. “And for the love of Merlin, get us above a 150 point lead since Malfoy is more focused on which Seeker’s broomstick Granger will end up on tonight than anything else.”

“That’s enough, Wood. I’m focusing. Leave her out of it,” I snarl.

He scoffs. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

With that, the whistle sounds and play resumes. I didn’t see a single sign of the Snitch, so I start moving towards the middle of the pitch, hoping a new angle will help.

The Chasers are relentless — they’ve clearly taken Wood’s pep talk to heart — and they score again, bring the point difference back up to 140. I need them to score at least one more goal, and my anxiety is rising. I’ve really fucked up over the past 24 hours.

I continue flying, my focus back where it should be, and I do what I’m supposed to do — I seek. There is a constant exchange of goals, Ireland’s Chasers must have been given a talking to as well, and the point difference alternates between 130 and 140, making me feel sick.

I haven’t allowed myself to look at  _ her _ since play resumed, but I chance a quick glance now. She’s leaning over the railing, watching me closely with her Omnioculars, and I want to catch it and hand it to her, along with my bollocks, as an apology even though I know I did the right thing last night when I put a stop to our drunken fumblings.

Krum is still standing there beside her, his enormous arms crossed over his chest, but there is distance between them. She’s likely pulled away enough that he’s keeping away, and hope blooms in my chest.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a reflection and I take off. The point difference stands at 140, so I have to catch the bloody thing. The Irish Seeker is heading for it too, and I hear another goal scored. The commentators are following us, so they don’t say who’s just scored. Urging my broom on faster and faster, I feel my stomach drop when it flutters closer to the Irish Seeker. All of the blood is rushing in my ears, and he grabs it, causing the crowd to erupt in thunderous applause and screams. 

“—can’t believe it! Malfoy can’t beat him to the Snitch, so we’re moving into a sudden death shootout! A risky but necessary move by Ireland!”

Our chasers scored. The match is tied. We haven’t lost yet. 

But I have, and in that moment, I am so furious with Hermione Granger and myself that I can’t even think straight.

* * *

It takes every bit of calm I have to sit on my broom with the English beaters and watch the shootout unfold. Oliver is a great Keeper, and our Chasers are definitely better than Ireland’s, but I’m still anxious.

Each Chaser is given two attempts to score a goal, and whichever team scores the most will win the match.

Since Ireland caught the Snitch, thanks to my bloody awful performance, our Chasers are up first. With bated breath, I watch as four out of six shots make it through the hoops. When I look at Oliver, his face is nearly green, but he looks determined. My knuckles are white on my broomstick, and I notice Blaise standing beside Abbott on the pitch, shaking his head.

The first shot makes its way towards Oliver, and he blocks it, letting out a sigh of relief afterwards. However, the next three find their way in, and his anxiety is showing. He never misses three saves in a row. When the fifth attempt hurdles towards him, he blocks it, and I start trembling with nerves. I pray we don’t go into a second shootout. I won’t survive the stress.

When the sixth Quaffle flies his way, Oliver smacks it out of the air with gusto, and we all mob him. He really is bloody fucking brilliant at what he does. 

Oliver gets the interview today, and that’s perfectly fine with me. I head for the showers, still furious with myself and with Granger. “Fucking hell, I never should’ve even looked at her,” I groan, and the shower curtain is yanked open unceremoniously.

Blaise is standing there, glaring at me. “Damn right you shouldn’t have! You played like fucking shite today, Draco!”

“Yeah, well, you probably shouldn’t have called her off-limits! If you hadn’t, I would’ve shagged her and gotten her out of my bloody system by now!” 

He closes the curtain once more. “Get fucking dressed. We need to talk.”

I’m reminded, once again, that hiring my best friend as my agent is probably the worst fucking thing I’ve ever done.

  
  


When I walk into the main locker room, Blaise is sitting next to Wood, no doubt getting the scoop on my behavior at the party and then at the pub.

“You fucking idiot,” Blaise hisses. “Hanging all over her straight away? Flying her around on your broom? You do know she’s been fucking Viktor Krum for years, right?”

_ Years. He’s had his hands on her for years. She hadn’t said years. _

“And now we’re off to bloody Bulgaria, where you’re going to be in even more danger than you were here—”

“I wasn’t in danger here!” I snap.

Blaise shakes his head. “Granger spent the first half hour of the match interrogating two bints who were going to slip you Amortentia and lust potions! And one of them was an ickle firstie at Hogwarts who you watched get  _ Crucio’d _ ! She tampered with the practice brooms thinking they were the real ones for the match!”

She didn’t miss the beginning of the match because she was being vindictive or spiteful or was angry with me. She was doing her job, guarding me against these plans. She was watching me fly so closely to make sure my broom wasn’t tampered with.

“What happened between you two after you left the pub last night?” Blaise asks, and I look to Oliver.

He stands and claps me on the shoulder. “From where I was standing, it looked like you were about to start snogging before you left. Tell him what’s going on so he can sort you out and get someone else here for the finals.”

The thought of anyone replacing Granger is absolutely ridiculous to me. She obviously did her job well today. I can get over these feelings… 

“Why am I in even more danger in Bulgaria?” I ask, trying to buy myself some time.

Blaise sighs. “They’ve never taken kindly to Karkaroff’s murder. The man might have been a piece of shite, but he was popular with the old families in Bulgaria. They blame Voldemort’s regime for his death — they say he should’ve been left alone since he wasn’t British.”

“And I was a Death Eater,” I reply, my past haunting me once again.

He shrugs. “Everyone in England knows when and why you became one, but I don’t think that’s going to be the case there. Now, I gave you time to think. Tell me what happened between you and Granger after the last time we talked.”

Taking a deep breath, I begin. I tell him about the party, about the fight we had when I noticed she was wearing Krum’s shirt, about how we fell asleep in the same bed and woke up the next morning. Because he already knows, I tell him about flying around the pitch yesterday afternoon and how she suggested we go to Finnegan’s pub. 

“So you both got pissed?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I was buzzed. I don’t think I was pissed, and at the time, I didn’t really think she was either. But then when we got back to the hotel, things… got heated and I ended up shirtless with my hand in her knickers—”

He lets out a loud groan. “And was her shirt off?” I nod, confirming what he has likely already deduced. “So what happened next?”

“I made her come, and then I got off the bed to start taking my trousers off and she asked me to get the Sober-Up because she wanted to remember the night.”

Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose. “And let me guess. You got all guilty and told her it was a bad idea to keep going?”

“Of course I did! She was only shagging me because she was drunk!”

“Think back to what you told me earlier about the fight over Krum. You said she looked hurt when you told her you were just friends who found each other attractive,” Blaise says.

“Right, but—”

“And then,” he interrupts, “she admits she’s trying to get  _ you _ drunk and starts dancing with you and kissing your neck. Did she seem uninterested in you?”

“No, but she was drunk, Blaise!”

“And how did she treat you this morning?” 

There’s a lump forming in my throat. “She barely gave me the time of day. I tried to apologize to her, and she told me it was fine. She apologized for acting unprofessionally and went on about acting like a groupie and me rejecting her.”

“You’re both fucking dense,” he states. “You stripped a bird’s shirt off, shoved your hand in her knickers, and then told her you needed to stop. And not just any bird — one who you tormented for years, Draco. You humiliated her. You probably made her think there was something wrong with her, like she still had bushy hair or huge teeth or that you still considered her beneath you because she’s Muggle-born. Do you see why she might be a little upset with you?”

I sit on the bench and put my head in my hands. “Yeah, when you put it that way, I get it.”

“And she has you all fucked up because she doesn’t have enough confidence—”

I laugh. The idea of Granger lacking confidence is absurd.

“Hear me out, Malfoy. She isn’t confident when it comes to you especially. She’s shaky at best. Again, likely because you tormented her for years. She’s worried you’re just toying with her,” Blaise says. 

Groaning, I reply, “That’s exactly what I’m trying not to do! And she won’t bloody listen to me!”

“Of course she’s not going to listen to you when you start something and then won’t follow through, mate! Don’t you think you’re sending her mixed signals by finger fucking her and then stopping before the main event? Especially when that was what she wanted?”

“She was drunk!” I shout.

“Yes, and I’m sure this is the first time in history a drunk girl has ever overreacted.” He rolls his eyes at me. “I’m going to Floo call Potter and get you a replacement for Bulgaria. You can’t think straight when it comes to her. And you obviously don’t fucking listen to me.”

I shake my head. “Please don’t. If you do that, I won’t ever get a chance to fix this with her, Blaise. I don’t want her to leave without understanding that I didn’t mean for it to feel like I was rejecting her.”

He glares at me. “You get tonight to try to sort your shit out. We travel to Bulgaria tomorrow, and the match is on Saturday. If your head isn’t in order by then, I’m getting you a big beefy male bodyguard to share your suite.”

I know he likely won’t budge any more than he already has, so I nod in resignation. “I’ll fix it tonight. I swear it, Blaise. As long as she’s cooled down, I can explain things to her properly.”

Without saying a word, he exits the locker room, and I start thinking about what to say to Hermione.

  
  


When I finally step back out on the pitch, she’s waiting for me, and Krum is there with her. They’re chatting, but she’s not touching him. When he sees me making my way towards them, he smirks.

“You were favored to catch the Snitch today. What happened?” he taunts.

Granger looks at me with sympathy, and maybe a bit of remorse. As much as I don’t want her pity, I’ll take whatever advantage I can get at the moment.

I shrug. “I spotted it first. It just moved towards him instead of me. Nothing to be done about it.”

Krum nods. “I was just asking Hermione if you’ll be attending the party tonight. She said she has to stay with you.”

He shoots me a look that says ‘do me a favor and come to the party so I can get my dick wet’. But I won’t be helping him with that mission. No fucking way.

“I don’t think so. I just need a night off,” I reply.

He shoots me a look. “You have quite a few days off before the next match. Surely you can rest then?”

“Viktor,” she chastises, placing a hand on his chest. “I told you it was up to him. I work for him.”

“You work for the Ministry, Hermione. Not for him.”

Finding my bollocks, I say, “For right now, Granger’s with me. I don’t feel like going to the party, so you’re just going to have to find another girl to hook up with tonight.”

They both glare at me.

“Come on, Hermione. You know I’m right,” I say, not thinking my words through. “You told me yourself you haven’t seen him in over a year.”

She averts her eyes, and Krum looks like he wants to crush me to death.

“Hermione, I’ve just been busy. I never meant to upset you.”

She looks at him. “I’m not upset. We’re not anything more than friends, Viktor. I was wearing your shirt, and Dra—Malfoy asked me about it.”

I hear her slip, nearly calling me Draco, and I feel like maybe this can be salvaged.

“Hermione, I really do need to get back. I’m starving,” I interject before Krum can argue.

“There’s a great pub—”

“I know,” I cut him off. “We were there last night. I’d rather not be with a bunch of pissed off Irish people tonight, though.”

Hermione nods. “That makes sense.” She turns to Krum. “I’ll see you in Bulgaria. Maybe we can have dinner or something one night when the tournament is over.”

He takes her into his arms and squeezes her tightly, dropping a kiss on top of her head. “I’m counting on it, love.”

When he releases her, she moves to my side and takes my hand. Waving to Krum, she Apparates us back to the hotel.

* * *

When we land in the suite, she tries to pull away immediately, but I’m ready. I grip her hand tightly and say, “We’re talking now.”

“Give me my hand, Malfoy. I’ll talk. There are some things I need to say, too,” she responds.

I let go, giving her the space she requested, and she sits on the sofa. Holding her hostage won’t do anything to improve her mood.

Looking up at me, she starts babbling. “I’m sorry about the match, and this morning, and last night. All of this — me and you and living in the same space — it’s just confusing me. And we keep upsetting each other and it’s affecting both of our work.”

“I know. I played like shite today because of you.”

She glares at me. “It wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“I haven’t performed that poorly since I went pro, Granger,” I state. “You stormed out last night, wouldn’t talk to me this morning, and then you weren’t there at the start of the match—”

She surges to her feet and shouts. “I wanted to be! I couldn’t help that there were two crazy females who were tired of not getting shagged by you!”

My brain tries to process what she’s saying. “What?”

“The two women that were arrested! You’ve taken them both to dinner, seen them at parties, and you’ve never shagged them. They said they were tired of waiting and just wanted you to choose someone,” she explains.

I think about the girls I’ve taken to dinner for the sole purpose of being pictured as a playboy. They were seriously mad I didn’t fuck them and discard them?

“Regardless of that, when you did show up, Krum was with you and kissing your hand, and it made me bloody furious! Everything about this whole thing makes me furious! I try to do the right thing by not shagging a drunk witch, and it somehow turns into the biggest fucking miscommunication of the century!” I’m pacing as I vent all of this to her. “And then the witch in question won’t talk to me, will hardly look at me, and I’m supposed to just go and catch the fucking Snitch!”

  
“Draco,” she says quietly, but I ignore her.

“Being a Seeker takes focus, and all I can think about is this infuriating witch that I am crazy about, that I used to have a thing for when I was younger! Add all of that to the fact that everyone wants to kill me over something I did when I was sixteen bloody years old to save my mother, and this is the worst Quidditch World Cup ever! Even if I  _ am _ the only ex-Death Eater present this time around!” 

“Draco!” she shouts, stepping in front of me.

“What?” I snap, looking down at her.

She takes a deep breath. “You said you’re crazy about me.”

I feel heat rise to my cheeks. “Did I?”

Hermione nods, and I think I see a smile forming on her lips. “I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been so hot and cold—”

“I have not. You’ve been hot and cold, Granger.”

She glares at me. “I have not! I’m not the one who stopped you from kissing my neck or put a stop to what was going to be amazing sex!” 

“Oh, I know that, sugar quill. Sorry for trying to keep us from doing something we might’ve regretted in the morning,” I respond.

“See, that’s the thing. I wouldn’t have regretted it. I would’ve been just as enthusiastic after the Sober-Up. You were the one who was worried about regretting it, not me,” she retorts.

I run my hands through my hair, and she watches the motion, the flex of my arms. “I would’ve been wondering if it only started because you were drunk and not thinking straight. I don’t want to be Krum, Hermione. I don’t want to just fuck you when we wind up in the same place and then fly off again.”

“So what are you saying?” she asks, her eyes meeting mine. “I need you to say it plainly because I am really fucking confused.”

“What do you want to know?”

She takes a deep breath. “I heard you talking when you thought I was asleep. You said you wanted me to be yours. Did you mean it?”

My heart stops, and I have to figure out what to say quickly. 

“Hermione, I—”

“Did you mean it, Draco?” she repeats, and her eyes look up at me, begging me to answer.

Swallowing hard, I say, “Yes, of course I meant it.”

And with that admission, she throws herself at me, completely sober and without any hesitation. She presses her body against mine and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down to her, and I’m powerless. When her lips touch mine, I lose all rational thought. There is nothing but her, nothing but us. 

In an imitation of last night, I put my hands on her arse and lift her, carrying her to my bedroom. For whatever reason, I slam the door shut behind us.

When I set her down on the bed, I get in beside her, laying on my back. She straddles me, leaning down to kiss me once more. When she slips her tongue between my lips and grinds her core against me, I almost regret giving her the power. 

_ Almost _ .

I run my hands up and down her thighs, and she pulls back, tugging at my t-shirt. 

“I’m supposed to be explaining things to you right now,” I say, sitting up a bit to help her. 

She shakes her head at me. “No. No talking right now. That is precisely where we keep fucking up.”

And I know she’s right, even if having sex with her without talking first seems completely wrong.

I’ve admitted that I want her to be mine. Is that enough? Does she really get it?

I debate pulling her shirt off, but then I realize it’s the jumper with my name across the back and I just slide my hands underneath it, up her back, to the clasp of her bra. When it comes loose, my hands find their way to her breasts.

As I play with her tits, her mouth moves to my neck, kissing and sucking bruises into it. Her hands are everywhere once more, but more often than not, her fingernails are digging into my shoulders like I’ll disappear if she doesn’t sink her claws into me. 

“Draco,” she pants against my neck. “Please touch me. I need you to touch me.”

“I am touching you, sugar quill,” I reply, pinching one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, rolling it gently.

She grinds herself down on me once more, trying to convey what she wants, but I’m not going to travel the same path as yesterday. She growls and reaches for the hem of the jumper, ready to tear it off, and I stop her.

“No. Leave that on,” I say. “And before you misunderstand, I want it on because it says my name on it. It marks you as mine.”

Her breath hitches and she releases it, working her way down my body. She unbuckles my belt and I finally kick my trainers off. Her hands make quick work of the button and zip of my trousers, and she starts working them down my thighs, taking my boxers with them. Once they’re around my knees, she stops and looks down at my cock. Unexpectedly, she licks the length of me, and I nearly buck her off my lap.

“Fuck.”

She smirks at me and does it again, this time wrapping her lips around the head for just a second and giving the gentlest of sucks.

I want to tangle my hands in her hair and guide her along, but I don’t. I’m giving her all the control.

“Draco,” she says, making sure her hot breath dances along my dick, “are you going to touch me?”

She licks me again, and I take back the control I had so willingly given her. I sit up and grab her by the shoulders, pulling her back up my body and flipping her over. It’s clumsy and not my best work, but I’m tangled in my own trousers. When she’s firmly on her back, I stand and pull the rest of my clothing off, feeling her eyes rake over me. And then I’m working on hers, slipping her shoes and socks off, followed by her jeans and, fuck, her purple lace knickers.

“I love those, and I want to see them on you later,” I tell her, making her smile.

“The bra matches,” she teases, and I groan. 

She opens her thighs, inviting me to touch her. Or taste her. Or even fuck her. Maybe it’s all of the above, but I can’t decide where to start. She’d licked me, so I decide to reciprocate.

When my tongue touches her for the first time, she lets out a squeak and trembles. I use my hands to spread her open wider, allowing me access to tease her more thoroughly. With each touch, she arches up closer to my face, and I focus entirely on her, on her pleasure and driving her crazy.

“Draco,” she moans when I suck on her clit for the first time, her legs trying to close around my head, and it’s the sweetest sound.

Her hands move to my hair, fisting it and tugging. I look up at her, and her eyes are squeezed shut. I slide a finger inside of her and a sigh of relief escapes her lips. I can feel her clenching around me already, no coming, but certainly close.

Sliding my finger in and out of her, twisting and stroking her insides, I let my tongue explore her, tease her, really taste her. When I feel her muscles grip me tighter, I repeat the same motions, and her legs begin to shake around my shoulders.

“Oh god,” she moans. “Please, Draco, please don’t stop.”

_ As if I ever could. _

I devour her until she’s broken apart, until there’s no tension left in her muscles. Her legs have slackened and her back is flat on the mattress, and I know she’s done for now. After one slow lick and a sucking kiss to her clit, her hands make their way to my shoulders, pulling me up to look into her eyes.

I can see she’s sated, but I also know she wants more. I’m on top of her, my hips between her spread thighs, and she says, “Draco, I’m ready for you.”

The jumper is between us, and this first time, I don’t think I want it there. After everything, the miscommunications and frustrations and even our godforsaken history, I want it to be just us, my skin against hers, no barriers. I sit back on my knees and pull her up to sitting, removing the jumper and the lacy purple bra she’d teased me about.

Kissing her, I lower us back to the bed, notching myself at her entrance and pause for a moment. She wraps her legs around my waist, opening herself to me and pulling me in at the same time. 

“What are you waiting for?” she asks, her lips barely parted from mine.

I take a deep breath and say, “I’m done waiting.”

And then I slide into her, and if I thought I was wrecked before I kissed her, I am absolutely decimated now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how many smut chapters do you guys want before Bulgaria? lol 
> 
> We're getting at least one more from Hermione's POV but I don't want to go over the top.


	11. Chapter 11 - Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been super busy with Christmas fests. I know I left you hanging, but I think I've made up for it. *wink*
> 
> Thanks go to coyg81 again for looking this over. I'm surprised she still talks to me after the amount I've asked her to read lately lol

It’s finally happening. Draco Malfoy is between my thighs, worshipping me with his mouth and his fingers and, oh my Gods, I’m going to come so hard. It’s so good — so fucking good — that I can barely breathe. I’m panting and moaning, crying out for him, running my fingers through his hair and rocking my hips into his mouth. My legs are squeezing around his shoulders and they begin to shake.

“Oh god,” I moan. “Please, Draco, please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t stop, and I can feel my pussy grasping and releasing his fingers, greedy for his touch and trying to pull him in deeper. While this orgasm is great, I want more. I need more. I need him to fill me.

My legs fall to the side, nearly boneless and my back settles into the mattress. I hadn’t realized it was still arched so much. I feel his tongue give me one final rough lick, ending with a hard suck to my clit, and he comes up for air. My hands find his shoulders and I pull him up, meeting his eyes.

His slim hips are cradled between my thighs and he’s staring down at me. Neither of us has moved, and I decide to prompt him.

“Draco, I’m ready for you.”

He sits back, kneeling, and I worry that he’s going to pull back again, that this was another orgasm that will end our rendezvous. However, he lifts me up so I’m sitting before him and reverently removes the jersey he insisted I keep on, along with my bra. Once we’re both fully naked, he kisses me passionately and tangles one hand into the hair at the back of my head. He starts pushing me back, lowering me gently to the bed, and I can hardly breathe, let alone think.

When he settles on top of me, I wrap my legs around his waist, but he doesn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath and replies, “Don’t worry, sugar quill. I’m done waiting.” 

And he slides into me, filling me and stretching me, and I shift my hips in welcome. I look up into his eyes, and they’re focused on me, on my face. As we start to move together, I feel a jolt of something inside of me. Electricity? A spark? Some unnamed connection? I don’t know, but it courses along my spine and gives me chills.

Draco feels something, as well. His eyes flutter closed and he groans. “You’re so perfect. You feel so good.”

I run my hands up and down his muscular back, finally landing on his arse and squeezing it, drawing him in closer. I let my legs fall to the sides, my heels landing on the mattress, and I arch up towards him, my body seeking more contact with his.

“Give me your hands,” he says, and I obey. 

He stretches my arms above my head, lacing his fingers through mine and pinning me down. As he moves in and out of me, I lift my head a bit, trying to capture his lips. He stays just out of my reach, smirking down at me, and I start to struggle against his hold. 

“Oh no,” he taunts, “I’m not letting you up. It took me long enough to get you beneath me, Granger.”

I continue to squirm, and his body pressing me into the mattress makes me moan. He stills his movements and moves my arms so he’s holding both my wrists with one hand. With his other, he grabs my thigh and hikes it higher, somehow allowing him to sink deeper when he starts moving again.

“Fuck,” he groans and picks up the pace.

His eyes are on fire, and I try to keep my thigh hitched up where he wanted it.

The expression on his face is one of pure pleasure, and I can’t believe he’s that lost in me, in my body. Rather than continuing to struggle against him, I relax into the mattress, letting him control everything.

“Kiss me,” I say. “Please, Draco.”

He lowers himself down onto me, bringing our bodies nearly flush, and he captures my bottom lip between his and sucks on it for a second before slipping his tongue into my mouth. While we’re kissing, he starts grinding his pelvis against mine at the bottom of each stroke and my legs quiver.

I can feel him smiling against my mouth, and I break the kiss to let out a moan. 

“You like that?” he asks, repeating the motion.

I don’t dignify his question with an answer; I can feel my insides starting to flutter around him.

“Oh, Granger, I think you do,” he teased. “I think you’re enjoying every part of this.”

I move my hips against his, and his eyes nearly roll back.

“Seems like you are, too,” I retort. “God, Malfoy, I hope you don’t come before I do. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t give me that  _ pleasure _ you’re always going on about.”

He lets go of my wrists and grabs my hips, rolling us over so I’m on top of him. “You set the pace to what you need, Granger,” he says, looping an arm around my lower back. 

I arch my spine, curving my lower back around the contour of his arm. I can slide and rock against him, but with the way he’s holding me, I can’t bounce up and down.

And when my clit grinds against his pubic hair, I’m ever so thankful. I cry out and he smirks up at me, moving a hand to the back of my head and gripping my curls. 

“Come on, Granger. Move the way you just did. I need to feel you come around my cock,” Draco groans. 

He holds me tighter, increasing the friction between our bodies, and I slide forwards and backwards. With a choked sob, my body starts shaking. My breasts are aching, my nipples tight, so I grab them and Draco uses his arms to keep my rhythm going when I start to falter, coming apart at the seams.

“You’re so fucking sexy right now,” he praises. “Squeeze your tits harder for me, princess.”

I do, my body unconsciously obeying him as my pussy contracts around his cock, gripping it tightly, afraid to be empty again.

Draco moves even faster, slamming into me. “You back with me?” he grunts.

“Yes,” I pant, looking down at him.

He releases me, and I sit up straighter, looking down at him.

“Ride me. Hard,” he commands, and I start adding more of a bounce to my movements, sliding up and down and slamming back into him. 

“Like that?” I ask, and his eyes are rolling back.

“Exactly. Fuck, just like that. So good.”

Draco’s hands grab my arse and roam my body as I continue to move the way he wants me to. I’ve already come twice, but I feel like I could potentially do it again. Everything about this moment is setting my nerves on fire — the snapping of tension, the way he seems to know exactly what I need, the way he’s looking at me.

And then his hands settle on my hips, his fingers pressing in deep as he grips me tightly, likely leaving bruises. “I’m going to come,” he groans. “We didn’t — I didn’t —”

“Potion. I’m on the potion,” I tell him, and he looks relieved.

When I bottom out on him, he holds me in place, his face open and his eyes meeting mine as he comes. “Hermione,” he says in the throes, and I try to remember if my name has ever sounded so sexy.

Grabbing my arms, Draco pulls me down and starts kissing me again. He’s still sheathed inside of me, and I want to keep going, keep riding him, but he’s not ready yet. I pull back and look at him.

“I want to do that again,” I state, and he smirks at me, his eyes darkening with desire.

His hand reaches up and cups my face. “Oh, sugar quill, we’re going to be doing this all night long. Don’t you worry. I’ll give you more  _ pleasure _ than you can handle.”

* * *

When I wake the next morning, my whole body is sore, reminding me of exactly what had happened after the match yesterday once more. I stretch out, reaching for Draco, and he’s not there. My eyes pop open, and I listen intently, hoping he’s just ordering us breakfast again. 

But the only thing I hear is the shower.

With a smirk, I climb out of bed, moving slowly as I stretch out my overused muscles. This time, I have the confidence to enter the bathroom and join him rather than listening at the door.

And, even with all the ways we’d pleasured each other last night, I still hadn’t gone down on him. I had tried, and he’d stopped me, telling me there would be plenty of time for that later on. 

When I slide the shower door aside, Draco smiles at me. When I greet him with a heated kiss, he groans and starts pushing me back against the wall, his hand working it’s way between my legs. I hiss at the contact and he pulls back.

“Sore?” he asks, and I nod.

He averts his eyes and starts to apologise, but I stop him. “I’m not sorry, and I don’t want you to be sorry, either.”

When he looks straight at me again, I can see the pride glowing in his features — the eyes, the smirk, even the slight tilt of his head. “Okay, I’m not sorry at all. I’m glad I absolutely wrecked you for all other men last night.”

I want to roll my eyes, but then I wonder if he’s right. Surely after last night, no one else will ever measure up. Our connection and the sex had somehow morphed into an experience that would be nearly impossible to replicate. 

“Okay, you cocky prat,” I begin, and he just keeps grinning. “I came in here to do what I wanted to last time you were in the shower.”

“Oh really? And what would that be, Granger?”

Offended, I glare at him. “You don’t remember what I said?”

He thinks about it and his eyes widen. “Oh. That.”

Smirking, I grab his arm and move, switching our positions so his back is against the wall. I reach down and start stroking him, his half-hard cock coming fully to life in my hand.

“Granger, you don’t need to, especially if I’m not going to be able to—”

I drop to my knees and take him into my mouth, cutting off his speech. The hot water rains down on my back and his fingers tangle in my hair as I tease him, sucking on his tip and swirling my tongue around it. I can tell he’s already dying to take control, to push me forward so I take him deeper. After a few more shallow sucks, my lips make it about three-quarters of the way down his length and he groans, tightening his grip on my hair.

Moving my hands to his hips, I start pulling him forward to meet my mouth. He gets the hint and starts moving slowly on his own.

“Fuck, Hermione,” he says. “I love your mouth. I need this every day.”

I nearly laugh, but I manage to hold back and suck harder, increasing the pressure on him and drawing a hissed breath out of him. One of my hands cups his bollocks, squeezing gently.

“This is going to be embarrassingly quick if you keep that up.”

I keep going — sucking, licking, sliding, and fondling — and a few minutes later, he pulls on my hair, moving me back until he drops from my mouth. His eyes are on fire, and the throbbing I’d started to feel between my legs intensifies. I don’t know if it’s the look of pure desire on his face, or the hair pulling, or the combination, but I’m desperate for him, desperate for an orgasm at his hands.

“I’m close,” he says, his breath catching. “How—are you okay with—”

Cocky Draco Malfoy is gone, complete putty in my hands and unsure of himself after a simple blow job. I let out a shaky breath. “It’s up to you. I don’t mind if you come in my mouth.”

I decide to torture him a bit, sliding much more slowly than I had before, my hand wrapping around the base and working in tandem with my mouth. He actually moans, a sound of pleasure that is so open and unashamed that it prompts me to do the same. My moan is muffled by his cock in my mouth, but he feels the vibrations and his fingertips dig into my scalp. 

“Fuck, yes, Hermione,” he groans, and I drop my other hand to my clit, rubbing at it while I’m finishing him off, generating more pleasured moans around him. “Oh, you’re going to fucking kill me. Don’t make yourself come. I want to do it, sugar quill.”

I slow my fingers and put more of my focus on him. I take my hand off the base of his shaft and fully encase him in my mouth, his tip making its way into my throat. After a few repeats of this motion, he comes, his cock swelling and twitching in my mouth. I swallow around him, and I’m sure he’s surprised. When I release him, I suck hard, pulling at him, and he hisses, sensitive from his climax.

I stay on my knees and look up at him. His eyes are shut tightly, his back against the wall, and he’s breathing hard. I wait for him to come back to me, still stroking my own clit, and I let out a tiny whimper when I feel a small jolt inside of me. The sound brings his focus to me and he grasps my shoulders, bringing me to standing and kissing me hard.

While he’s completely dominating my lips, his fingers start sliding through my folds, slick with both water and desire. He touches me gently, reverently, like he’s afraid a little discomfort will end this interlude. 

Before I know what’s happened, I’m the one pressed into the wall again, and his mouth has moved from my mouth to my neck, to the curve of my shoulder, working its way down my body once more. He sucks my nipples, covers the entirety of each breast in kisses and swipes of his tongue. When his mouth reaches my ribs, I can feel his teeth gently grazing down the ladder, interspersed with gentle licks from his tongue. 

Draco’s ministrations aren’t run of the mill, and they’re driving me crazy. He’s touching and kissing me in ways no one else has ever bothered to in a bed, nevermind while in the shower. He reaches the gentle curve of my stomach, the one place that never flattens out, and he kisses along it from side to side, making me feel like he loves it, like he doesn’t care that I’m not a goddess.

Before his mouth falls to my vulva, he looks up at me. “You’re perfect, Hermione. I can’t wait to taste you again.”

And then he does, opening my legs a bit wider so he can access my pussy. I cry out almost instantly, the time that’s elapsed since I entered the bathroom catching up with me. I thought I’d known how badly I need this, needed to come at his hand, but I had underestimated it.

His tongue swipes from my clit down to my opening and he groans, “So fucking sweet,” as he laps at me. His mouth moves back to the bud that’s swollen and begging for his attention, his tongue stroking it harder than before.

“Draco,” I breathe, my voice softer than one would think in this situation. “More. Please.”

I feel a finger test me, sliding inside with ease. “So wet,” he says, though it’s muted by my flesh. A second finger enters me, and he slides them in and out slowly while teasing my clit with his tongue. I’m looking down on him, his blond hair darker from the shower, and it’s so fucking sexy. Taking a page from his book, I lace my fingers in his hair, holding him in place while I rock my hips. His free hand pushes me back, pinning my hip in place.

“No, Granger,  _ I _ will get you off. You don’t need to work for it,” he commands, and I still. Twisting his wrist, his fingers find what they’re searching for, and I moan. “See, I told you,” he taunts before sucking my clit into his mouth.

When I come, I think about what he said earlier, and I firmly agree — he has wrecked me for all other men.

* * *

It’s 11:30am and we’re rushing around the suite, trying to gather all of our belongings and make sure we don’t look like we’ve been shagging for the past twelve hours or so. I’d had to glamour all of the lovebites on our necks, and Draco laughed the whole time.

Once again, it’s a stark contrast from the previous day. Every time we pass each other, there’s a graze of a hand or a quick kiss, and it’s making my heart race. I don’t think I’ll survive several days in Bulgaria. Once we’ve shrunk the luggage, we stand in front of the Floo, the Portkey on top of the mantle.

Draco laces a finger through the belt loop of my jeans and tugs, pulling me closer so he can kiss me. Hard. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers when his lips move to my ear. “I want to bend you over that sofa right now and—”

The Floo roars to life and Harry steps out. We jump apart like two teenagers caught in the act, and he grins. 

“Ahhh, I can see Ginny was right,” he taunts.

I glare at him. “Harry! What are you doing here?”

“What does he mean, Ginny was right?” Draco asks, and I can feel my cheeks warming.

Harry snorts. “She bet Hermione that you’d shag her after winning the match against Ireland.”

Draco’s jaw drops, and I know he’s realised I’ve been talking to Ginny every time I’ve said I was talking to Harry. And he knows it’s been about him because my best friend is a fucking prat.

“And you’re fine with this?” Draco gestures between the two of us.

I level a look at Harry, daring him to say something laced with toxic masculinity, like he has to protect me from harm.

“She’s a grown witch, Malfoy. I don’t think I need to tell you to treat her with respect,” Harry answers carefully. “Besides, she can protect herself better than anyone else can.”

He’s absolutely right about that.

“So what are you doing here?” I ask again, hoping to get Harry on a new topic.

He sighs. “Blaise called me. He was worried Hermione would murder you in your sleep after a row.”

Draco looks furious, glaring at Harry. “I told him to give me one night to fix things. As you can see—” he gestures between us, “we’re fine. No one needs to take Granger’s place.” 

“You’ve shagged her and you’re still calling her Granger?”

Rolling his eyes, Draco says, “She’s always going to be Granger to me. It’s like a pet name.”

I decide to tease him, knowing it’ll irritate him a little bit. “What about sugar quill?”

Harry tries to hold back his laughter, and Draco turns his glare on me. “That’s just for us, Granger. You don’t have to share it with the world.”

I avert my eyes, looking down at my feet. A finger lifts my chin, and he kisses me sweetly. 

“I can’t let you be his bodyguard anymore, Hermione,” Harry states. “You’re obviously… involved now. You know whoever is in charge of his safety needs to have a clear head, and you won’t now.”

While I know he’s right, I can’t fathom letting Draco go off to Bulgaria without me. The thought of groupies and former Slytherin slags trying to climb all over him makes my stomach turn. Looking to Harry, I plead with my eyes, the same way I have hundreds of other times. I’m reminding him of all the favours I’ve done for him throughout the years.

He shakes his head at me. “Nope. You can travel with him, but you’re not working, Hermione. Don’t try to use that look on me.”

“You know perfectly well I can still do my job, or be myself, when people I care about are involved, Harry. Or have you forgotten those months in the tent?”

He groans. “This is different!”

Draco steps in. “Granger, it’ll be fine if someone else comes along with us. I just want you there, even if it’s only as my… well, my companion.”

I cast a quick  _ Muffliato _ so Harry can’t hear us. “And would you like to continue having sex? Because if Harry is with us, that won’t be happening! Remember, no Silencing Charms!”

With a smirk, he leans down and kisses me. “Let me negotiate, Granger. I’m sure I can get Potter to come to a sensible conclusion.”

I drop the spell. Harry says, “Seriously? You use the spell you used to berate me for?”

I just shrug my shoulders, not giving him a further answer.

“Potter,” Draco begins, “What if we go back to England and then head to Bulgaria the day before the match? I don’t need to be there all week.”

Harry looks like he’s thinking it over. “Let me see if I can reach Abbott before he leaves. I’m sure the Chasers and Beaters can successfully practice without you.”

While Harry completes his Floo call, Draco wraps his arms around me and kisses my neck. His lips move to my ear and he whispers, “You’re coming to stay at my flat if we go back to London. I’m not through with you yet.”

His words fill me with anticipation and dread in equal measure. 

_ Does that mean he’ll eventually be through with me? Do I want to just have this fling, this weird sort-of friends with benefits situation? _

“I’m going to fuck you in every room,” he continues. “I’m going to have you in the kitchen and in my gym and in my bed.”

I can feel my knickers getting wet again.

“And I’m going to keep you with me for as long as I can,” he says before sucking my earlobe into his mouth and making me shiver. “After the World Cup is over, I want you with me for the press tour, for the ceremonies, for everything.”

I’m about to respond when Harry stands up. His eyes survey our positioning, how Draco’s face is partially obscured by my hair, and how flushed I am.

“Break it up. You two can head back to London for two days, and then you need to be in Bulgaria. I’ll owl you your new Portkey, and I’ll be meeting you there,” Harry explains. “Now, please go and get this nauseating display of affection out of your system, Malfoy. I expect you to behave like a gentleman in Bulgaria. Hermione is like my sister.”

“I think you’re forgetting something, Potter,” Draco drawls. Harry arches an eyebrow. “I’m an only child, and so is she. We don’t give a fuck about how people view sex with their siblings.”

“I’m an only child, too,” he grumbles, and I laugh.

“I’ll get him under control,” I tell Harry, and Draco pinches my arse. “I mean it, Malfoy. I don’t want Harry to have a front row seat to this.”

“Merlin forbid!” Harry says, taking out his wand and charming a hotel notepad. “This will take us to the Ministry. Sorry, I don’t remember the details for your flat, Malfoy.”

“It’s fine. We can Floo,” Draco responds, lacing his fingers through mine. 

Harry holds out the Portkey, and we each put our free hands on it. We’re sucked through time and space, landing squarely in the Auror department. When people see me holding hands with Draco, they gape. 

Hastily, I lead him to the Floo, ready to be back in our own personal bubble.

“Ready for a couple of quiet days at home?” he asks, and the inference is clear — he’s calling his flat our home.

I nod, taking the leap. “Of course I’m ready. I am yours, after all.”

Smiling, we step through the Floo together.

  
  



	12. Chapter Twelve - Draco

As soon as we walk through the door of my flat, I pick Hermione up and carry her to my bedroom, setting her in the middle of the bed. She stretches out, the hem of her t-shirt riding up to reveal the skin of her stomach. I untie her shoes and take them off, followed by her socks and jeans. Looking down at her knickers, I see they’re tiny and black, and I leave them on her for now. She sits up and strips her shirt off, revealing a matching black bra, and I can’t believe how sexy she is.

“You’re killing me, Granger,” I say, and she smiles at me.

Scooting to the edge of the bed, she reaches for my belt, unbuckling it as I toe off my shoes. One of her arms snakes around the back of my neck, and she pulls me down into a heated kiss, a whimper escaping her lips as my tongue strokes hers. When my fly has been unzipped, she starts pushing my jeans and boxers down my legs, using her feet when her hands can’t reach any longer. I smile against her lips and step out of the trousers, wrapping an arm around her waist and crawling onto the bed, my hardening cock already aching to be inside of her.

When her head hits the pillow, she looks up at me and I feel something so strong, so undeniable, that it terrifies me. A few days with Hermione Granger, and I’m basically whipped. I know I’d do nearly anything to have her keep looking at me the way she is right now.

“Take your shirt off,” she commands, and I oblige, kneeling between her legs. “Oh, gods, you’re so perfect. Every inch of you.”

I smirk. “ _ Every _ inch?”

She nods, and I lower myself onto her, my prick settling against her centre. I can feel the damp fabric of her knickers, and I rock against her, causing her to inhale sharply.

“Especially those inches,” she replies. “Those may be my favourite.”

“Insatiable little lioness,” I purr in her ear, punctuating it with a suck of her earlobe. “They’re all yours, whenever you want them.”

I rock against her again, and she wraps her legs around me. At the same time, I lean down and my tongue darts out to taste the sweet skin of her neck. I lick and suck my way from side to side, covering her neck in a choker of lovebites that I know she’ll likely hex me for, but they’re so beautiful, and they mark her as mine.

“Draco,” she breathes, my name sounding like a prayer on her lips.

My lips slant over hers again, kissing her voraciously. I want to drive her crazy before I slide inside of her. I want her to beg and plead like fucking me is as important as the air we’re sharing.

I roll to the side and Hermione clings to me, her leg slung over my hip and her arms around my neck. Breaking the kiss, I push her down to the bed, her back on the mattress, and start kissing down her body, memorising all the places that make her squeal and squirm. When I suck on her right hip bone and graze it with my teeth, she laughs. Raking my fingertips up the inside of her left thigh makes her shiver.

Exploring Hermione is my new favorite game, and making her come undone is the equivalent of catching the Snitch. 

But, instead of just once, I get to do it over and over again.

I slowly pull her knickers down her legs, revealing her desire-slickened flesh to me. When I suck on the bare skin of her mound, she whimpers and tries to push my head lower, wanting my mouth on her clit, my tongue inside her cunt.

I move fractionally lower. “What do you want, Granger?” I murmur, looking up at her as my tongue teases her slit.

Her hips buck forwards, and she slips her hands into her bra cups, fondling her breasts. “Malfoy, I want your mouth,” she pants, and I drop lower, sucking at the top of her slit. She writhes. “More. Oh, God, more.”

I’m smirking against her, watching her reactions as my tongue darts out and runs along the side of her clit, and she’s more beautiful than I’ve ever seen before, relaxed and absolutely dripping with desire.

I repeat the movement on the other side, a mirror image, and she whimpers. Swiping my tongue over the top of her clit, hard, I make her cry out. “More, please!”

My tongue moves down to her entrance, circling and teasing it, tasting her. When I pull back, she whines, and I quickly slip a finger inside of her, pumping in and out. I twist my wrist and make her gasp, my fingertips dancing over the spot she’s dying for me to focus on.

But I don’t. It’s not time for that yet. I want to make her crazy.

As my fingers move in and out of her, touching that magical place every so often, I start devouring her again, my tongue sneaking down to where my fingers are working every so often to have another taste of her.

“Draco,” she cries. “Please. I need to come. Stop teasing.”

I suck hard, but not on her clit. A sob escapes her lips, and I press my fingers into her g-spot, slowly curling them against it before pulling back again.

“No!” she says, grabbing my hair again. “Why’d you stop?! Please!”

Another suck, this time a bit closer to where she wants it, and a bit more pressure inside of her. I feel her tremble, count to three, and then stop.

“Are you ready, sugar quill?”

She sits up fast, glaring at me. “I’ve been close since you began. I don’t know why you’re torturing me!”

“Imagine how it’s going to feel when I make you come,” I whisper before blowing on her clit while my fingers still work her.

“You know what’s better than that?” she asks.

As she speaks, I wrap my lips around her bud. “Hmmmm?” 

My lips vibrate around her when I make the humming sound, driving her wild. She’s clenching around my fingers, and I pull back. 

“Actually coming,” she hisses out, her breath ragged.

I laugh and resume my ministrations, driving her to the brink three more times before moving up her body and seating myself inside of her, not wanting her to come until the main event begins.

“You’re evil,” Hermione tells me, her face red and eyes darkened with lust. She has a light sheen of sweat on her skin, slickening it, helping us glide against each other.

I quiet her, soothe her with a kiss as I start to move. I can feel how tightly she’s coiled, the tension within her a hairsbreadth away from snapping. She closes her eyes and her bra vanishes without a touch. I move my hand to her breast, running my palm over her hard nipple.

I’m moving slowly but steadily and she’s arching her hips up to meet mine. We’re face to face, and as I look at her, I can feel myself slipping under her spell. I’m completely mesmerized by her, every inch of my body is focused on her, on her pleasure. As I slide in and out of her, I take note of what makes her shiver and sigh, what makes her moan.

“More, Draco,” she begs.

“More of this?” I ask, snapping my hips a bit harder at the end of my thrust, jarring her.

“Yes!” 

Increasing my pace marginally, her hips meet mine eagerly. “Like this?”

“Oh, fuck, yes!” she says, arching up more.

I move a hand between us and, with a few light strokes over her clit, she sobs her release, shuddering and shaking against me as her pussy grips me and sucks me in deeper, trying to hold me within her forever.

I kiss her, closing my eyes and moving more slowly after her climax, and I feel something between us — a spark, a weird connection — and I’m desperate for more of it. I replay the past few days in my head, and I can see something forming between us. It may have started out as simple lust, but it became more somewhere down the line. It’s moved so fast, but I can’t imagine it any other way. We feel completely inevitable.

When Hermione’s hands reach up and cup my face, I’m drawn back to the moment, to whatever’s happening between us as I rock in and out of her at a measured pace. We’re touching in nearly every possible way, and somehow, it feels like it’s not enough, like it will never be enough. I want every part of her, and it terrifies me, but I know I won’t be able to give her up now that I’ve had her, especially like this.

Pulling away, I move to sitting and she scrambles into my lap, her legs extended behind me. One of my palms is flat against the mattress and I drive up into her. Her hands run through my hair, and I can see her tits bouncing.

“You’re gorgeous,” I say, my eyes roaming her from head to hips. “Sweet Salazar, you’re perfect.”

She smiles, a bit unsure, and I love her all the more for it.

And when I think the word  _ love _ , everything starts to make sense, shifting and refocusing. I know it’s so fast, so early, but that must be what this is. And I’ve been making love to her this afternoon, taking my time and exploring her in a way I never have with the other witches I’ve been with before.

Hermione moans and clenches around me again, drawing me back from the recesses of my mind. 

“That’s right,” I begin, prompted by her second climax, “Come for me, love. I love feeling you squeeze me like that.”

Her volume increases and she shakes harder than I’ve ever seen before, her head tipping back. I hold her upright with an arm around her waist. I follow her over the edge, my body’s release sneaking up on me, and I let myself topple backwards, my head landing at the wrong end of the bed. I hear her chuckle, and she maneuvers herself so she laying on top of me, her head on my chest. I stroke her curls and kiss the crown of her head.

“That was amazing,” she says when she’s caught her breath. “I’ve never…”

“I know,” I interrupt. “I haven’t ever felt anything like that, either.”

“Good,” she responds. “I’m glad. I’d be rather upset if this was run of the mill for you.”

I laugh and hold her close. “Hermione, I know you said we keep messing up by talking, but we really should.”

“I know,” she answers. “And I think we can now that all of the sexual tension is out of the way.”

Allowing myself a few more minutes of bliss, I run my hands up and down her back while she kisses me softly and sweetly. I can’t help but wonder if she’s feeling something like love, like adoration, as well. I won’t ask — she’s brave enough that she’ll likely tell me if she is.

She props herself up on her elbows and says, “So… let’s talk about it.”

I swallow hard. “I think we should probably get dressed. Or—”

Hermione smirks. “Oh, I think we’ll be fine this way. Though maybe we’d be more comfortable if we moved to the head of the bed.” She sits up and then climbs off of me, crawling towards the top of the bed. Slipping between the sheets, she says, “Draco? Are you coming?” 

I follow and slide in beside her, cuddling close under the blankets and sheets. I kiss her lips gently, and she groans before deepening it.

Pulling away, I gaze down at her — she’s already looking at me like she’s ready for round two.

“Talking first, witch,” I tease. “I’m only human.”

She laughs and turns to her side, holding her head up with her hand. “So, first off, I wanted to apologise for continuously saying you slept around all week. The women who were trying to slip you a love potion told me that you just take them to dinner and nothing comes of it.”

“I should’ve just openly told you,” I answer. “I just… I’ve been trying so hard to make people think that’s who I am. I haven’t wanted anything serious, and I know there are plenty of witches out there who are looking to get pregnant and trap a wealthy wizard.”

Hermione nods. “And I thought if I focused on the fact that you slept around, you’d somehow become less attractive to me. I really didn’t think this would ever happen.”

“I hoped it would, but not until after the tournament. I have a lot riding on the outcome.” Her eyes roam my face, and she looks like she’s biting her tongue, trying not to ask questions. “What is it, sugar quill?”

“You said you had a thing for me when we were younger,” she states quietly. “Does that — did you think you wanted to start something up when you knew I’d be the one with you?”

How do I answer that?

“Honestly? No. I thought you’d still be exactly the same as you were when we were at Hogwarts, which was foolish. I… Well, I wasn’t expecting sexy and a witch who would fly with me and make men generally fall on themselves,” I admit, deciding the truth is best.

She doesn’t answer right away. “You thought I’d be a boring little bookworm who doesn’t know how to have fun.”

I nod, and she looks hurt. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for thinking that. I’m sure you haven’t been that way since the war. I just didn’t know.”

Shrugging, she moves on to her next question. “So what changed your mind?”

“Well, like I said, I did have a thing for you when I was younger. You were always fascinating and so fierce. You never backed down from me like most of the others,” I explain. “And you’re like that now, too. When I kept needling you about your sex life, you didn’t budge. I found you sexy from the first time we flew together.”

“Okay, so explain to me why you stopped the night after the bar. I know I was drunk, but—”

I sigh internally, trying to figure out what to say in response to this question. I don’t want to piss her off again, but all the cards need to be out on the table. I won’t hold anything back.

“There were a lot of reasons,” I say, beginning my confession. “From the beginning, Blaise told me you were off-limits. You were there to focus on my security, and I was supposed to essentially leave you to it. No flirting, no banter, no anything, because he knew I’d want more if you gave me even a little taste of attention.”

Hermione smiles at me, and I know what I just said was true — every little piece of herself she gives me makes me want more.

“But obviously I started fucking that up from the beginning. When I saw you with Flint at the match, I started to think that maybe you could forgive those of us who were blood purist prats in school. I know I was the worst of the bunch… And then when Oliver started to notice you, I got jealous. I was going to let it be until you took Pansy and Astoria down and did the intent line, and then I knew I wanted you for myself,” I explain. “I kept hoping you would kiss me so I could tell Blaise it was all your fault.”

“When?” she asks.

“That night at the party. While we were dancing and then when we got back to the room. And then you were wearing Krum’s jersey and I wanted to rip it off of you and shag you to make you forget about him.”

She takes a deep breath before replying. “I wanted you so badly that night.”

I lean in and kiss her, still blown away that she’s here with me, naked in my bed. Pulling her closer, I say, “And then there was the next night at the bar. I’d woken up beside you hard as a fucking rock and you made these sounds in your sleep… wiggling your bum against me.”

“ _ You _ had been moving against  _ me _ in your sleep! Pressing your cock against me and dry humping me!” she interrupts, and it doesn’t shock me at all.

Her lips capture mine again. I allow her tongue to stroke over mine, to tease me. I want her so badly, but I know this conversation has to be finished before we have sex again. 

“The night at the bar, I wanted you. When we got back, I lost my head. I stopped thinking about Quidditch and Blaise’s rules and what we were supposed to do. I just wanted you, Granger,” I begin. “But when you said you were drunk, I got worried that you didn’t actually want me and I’d be taking advantage of you. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

She gently kisses my lips again. “I did want you. I had since the previous night.” She pauses, seemingly thinking. “God, has it really only been four nights? I feel like we’re twelve chapters into a story.”

“I know that now, but I didn’t then. And then I played like total shite yesterday because I was so distracted, and I need to win the World Cup. I need to. I want to quit playing internationally and just settle down at home. I want to get a good contract in the British-Irish league,” I tell her, and her eyes widen.

“That’s what you meant by not wanting to fuck me and fly off again. You want to live in Britain and be there all the time.”

I nod, confirming that I had been planning to go after her eventually. “And if we had managed to build a friendship, or if we hadn’t kissed or shagged, I would’ve courted you properly once all of this was over. Once I decided I wanted you, it was a done deal. I was going to have you at some point.”

Glaring at me, Hermione says, “Oh really? Just like that?”

“Just like that. Easy as hexing Hufflepuffs in the Hogwarts hallways. I was going to put my hand in the cookie jar and steal the most delicious cookie all for myself,” I tell her. “And besides, you’ve already verbally told me that you want me, and I could see the desire in your eyes long before I slid my hand in your knickers, sugar quill.”

“Now you’re deliberately being an arse,” she groans. “Yes, I wanted you. You made me want you.”

I lean down and whisper in her ear. “I know. That was my plan all along, Hermione. I wanted you to want me.”

“You’re lucky you’re gorgeous and I know you’re laying it on thick right now,” she says before kissing me. “Oh, and that I’m already addicted to shagging you.”

“Addicted, you say?” I reply with a grin. “Well, I’m just about ready to give you your next fix.”

When I try to kiss her, she pulls away.

“So what does this all mean, Draco?” Hermione asks.

Pausing to think, I look into her eyes. “I think it means that I want this — I want you — and it’s about more than shagging. It’s real. I don’t know about you, but when we’re together, everything just feels…”

“Perfect,” she supplies. “Everything feels so perfect.”

With a sigh, I say, “It definitely won’t be easy for us, and you’ll have to trust me and not believe the papers.”

“Nothing  _ worth it _ is ever easy, Draco,” Hermione answers before kissing me, crushing me against her body and guiding my hand between her thighs.

I want to laugh at how eager she is, how incredibly ready her body is, but I don’t. 

I just accept the gifts she’s given me.

Forgiveness.

Acceptance.

Trust.

Herself.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter Thirteen - Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait! This is a fun chapter to make up for it!

When I wake up in Draco’s arms, I instantly smile, realizing that everything playing in my mind had actually happened. We’d left Ireland together and spent the whole day in his flat, rarely leaving the bed.

But we’d also talked, and he’d admitted that he wanted something more than shagging with me. 

I roll over to face him, kissing him softly and slowly, gently coaxing him awake. His hands move down my body and hitch one of my thighs over his hip, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss. He rocks forward, grinding against me, and I break the kiss.

“Again?” I ask.

He smirks at me and rolls, pulling me on top of him. “Why wouldn’t we do this again? We’re very good at it.”

I have to admit he’s right. We are very, very good at it. We fit together perfectly, and it’s definitely the best sex I’ve ever had. I shift my hips and feel him hardening against me, his cock rising to the occasion. 

Leaning forwards, I kiss him again and his hands move to my breasts, palming them and rolling my nipples. I rock against him, dragging my slit along his length, feeling the arousal coating him.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Are you ready? I need to be inside of you.”

“I think so, but you’d better check,” I reply, grinning at him.

One of his hands works its way down, finding my swollen clit. When he rubs a circle around it, I shudder. He keeps at it, one hand on my breast and one at the apex of my thighs, his eyes on my face, watching my reactions to his touch. After a minute or so, his fingers slide down and he presses one inside of me, stroking my inner walls. I move back and forth, fucking his fingers, feeling how ready for him I am. 

“Oh, sugar quill,” he says, his voice teasing, “don’t you want more than this? I think you want to be filled and stretched.”

“Yes,” I pant, even though his fingers are getting me there just as effectively. “Please, Draco. I want you.”

I feel his fingers slip out and roam up towards my clit again, circling and coating it in my own arousal before he reaches down and positions his prick at my entrance. I sink down onto him and nearly moan in relief. 

When I start to move, Draco sucks the fingers I’d fucked into his mouth as he watches me. I’m so turned on by it, by the way he makes sure to get every bit of my flavour off his fingers. He’s barely moving under me, just sucking and watching, letting me take my pleasure from him. 

I circle my hips and grind down on him, trying to get him to react. I lean down, touching my lips to his, and he slips his fingers out of his mouth to kiss me properly.

When he pulls back, he says, “Can you taste yourself on my lips?”

I nod, still rolling my hips and grinding against him, building myself up slowly.

“So delicious,” he praises, “I think I need you to sit on my face before we go to Bulgaria.”

The thought arouses me way more than it probably should.

His hands push me upright before moving to my hips and starting to guide my movements, lifting me and then making me grind against him at the bottom of every stroke. It’s so like the first time we were together, but this time I’m not worried, not self-conscious. I know he wants me, and for more than just a few nights.

I feel the same tingle, the same jolt that shocked me the first night. I don’t know if it’s magic or if I’ve just never experienced this level of arousal, but I’m addicted to the feeling it gives me. When I cry out in response, Draco thrusts harder, trying to go deeper inside of me.

“Yes!” I scream, and he takes it to heart, continuing to move the same way, plunging into me as deep as he can and guiding me.

Bracing my hands on his chiseled abdomen, I start moving faster. A chill runs along my spine and my pussy flutters around him.

“I feel you,” he says. “Come for me, Granger. You know you want to.”

And I do want to. I want to give him everything he wants. I want to be the one he stays in England for, the one who wakes up beside him every morning. The thought of that, of a future together, is what pushes me over the edge, sending me soaring and screaming as I shake on top of him.

I let myself fall onto his chest, pressing kisses to his neck. I’m still moving, riding him fast, and his hands tangle into my hair, pulling me up to kiss him again. When his tongue strokes against my lips, I feel the jolt again.

“What is that?” he asks, looking to me for an answer.

I don’t respond right away.

“Granger?”

“I honestly don’t know, but it feels fucking amazing,” I say. “I want it to happen over and over again.”

Draco kisses me again, and in this moment, we’re lost in each other. His hands rub up and down my back, grab my arse, work their way back into my hair. He’s touching me everywhere, like he’s memorizing my body.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” he groans. “I wanted to make you come again.” 

“Shhhh, it’s fine. I’m sure we’ll do this again. Lose yourself,” I reply before sealing it with a kiss.

Thrusting up into me harder, Draco moves like a man possessed, like this is his only chance to come before he hits a long dry spell. He pushes me up, breaking our lips apart, and grabs my hair, holding my head in place.

“I want to see you. I want to be staring into your eyes when I come,” he says, and his words are so intense they make me shiver.

Smirking, he moves his other hand between us to stroke my clit. I let out a shuddering breath, my body breaking out in goosebumps. I feel my pussy start to squeeze him, and he shakes, as well, moving his fingers over me more quickly. 

“Are you there?” he bites out. “Are you going to come with me?”

I nod, my eyes latching onto his, the darkened silver pulling me in quickly. I start snapping my hips faster, doing everything I can to hit the finish line with him. I squeeze him tight inside of me, gripping him like I want to stay locked this way forever. He hasn’t looked away, and I’m completely lost in his gaze. He pinches my clit between his thumb and his forefinger, stroking along the sides of it. The change in stimulation tips me over the edge. 

I start to close my eyes, to tip my head back, but I hear Draco say, “Eyes on me, Granger!” 

My head snaps forward and my eyelids flutter open. I’m coming, my moans and cries filling the room, and his eyes are fixated on my face. He moves and wraps both his arms around me, clinging to me as we both cry out our release, still grinding against one another, trying to prolong the pleasure.

When he drops back to the bed, he takes me with him and I try to catch my breath on his chest. I feel like I should say something — anything — but there are absolutely no words in my brain. My ear is pressed against his chest, and I can hear his heart racing, nearly beating out of his chest. Knowing that I’m not alone in this, that he’s just as excited as I am, makes me brave.

“I could get used to that,” I say aloud.

Draco chuckles. “What? Coming twice in less than fifteen minutes?”

“The intensity.” I swallow hard and admit, “You. Looking into your eyes.”

He grabs my hair, pulling it gently so I look up at him. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Do you really mean that?”

It’s easy for me to see that he’s guarded, that he’s built walls around himself to keep people out. Somehow, I’ve managed to find a break in the them, or I’ve climbed over them, and I’ve found my way inside. When he told me he would’ve courted me properly, it had registered, but something about the moment we just shared solidifies it for me.

The realisation crashes over me all at once — I’ve found my way through his defenses and now his walls surround both of us. Since I’d managed to slip in, I needed to fix the cracks. I still need to guard him, to shield this fragile thing growing between us. 

I move up his body and kiss him, making a silent promise that I’m here with him, that I’m in this and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep him safe. I’ll protect him in whatever way I have to. I’m sure there are plenty of people who will want to break this fledgling relationship and tear us apart. With the touch of my lips to his, I vow not to break his heart, to keep the groupies and gold diggers away from him, to burn Viktor’s t-shirt on the pitch in Bulgaria.

Remembering what he’d said the night before, I smile against his lips. 

_ Once I decided I wanted you, it was a done deal. I was going to have you at some point. _

Well, he certainly had me now. I’d gone and done the most ridiculous thing I ever could’ve — I’d fallen for my childhood bully.

* * *

“So, sugar quill, are you gonna come with me on the press tour after England wins the World Cup?” 

I look over at Draco, and he’s sitting on his kitchen counter eating ice cream straight out of the tub, wearing only a pair of sleep pants. I can feel myself staring, my lips slighting parted, but I can’t make myself answer.

“Hermione?” he says with a smirk. “Sweet Salazar, we’ve certainly got your cauldron bubbling now.”

My eyes snap up to his. “You’re, uh, a fucking git, Malfoy.”

“I think you meant to say, ‘You look fucking fit, Malfoy.’”

Glaring, I tilt my face back down, focusing on my book again. “I said what I meant.”

I hear him hop off the counter and then the spoon clatters into the sink. His footsteps tell me he’s walking over to the couch, and I can feel myself flushing from head to toe.

Crouching down in front of me, he lifts my chin, making me focus on his face. “Maybe. But I could feel you eye-fucking me, Granger. It’s okay. You can look all you’d like. All of this—“ he gestures to his body, “—is yours, princess.”

He leans in and kisses me, his tongue teasing my lips until I sigh and let him in. I feel him grab my book and set it on the coffee table before he presses me down on the couch, holding me in place with his chiseled body.

When I rock my hips up, he smiles against my lips and pulls back. “See? I knew it,” he teases. “So are you gonna come with me?”

“Haven’t I done that a few times already?” I quip, trying to delay seriously answering since I haven’t given his request any thought.

Grabbing my hands, he pins me down, looking me straight in the eyes. “I’m being serious, Hermione. I want you there with me.”

My heart starts trying to pound out of my chest, and it feels like the air thickens between us. It’s all so fast — too fast — and I’m terrified because I want to say yes. I want to tell him that I’ll go wherever he goes, that I’ll be at every single one of his matches cheering him on. I want every single Snitch he catches to be handed directly to me.

But I’m not impulsive — or I wasn’t until this week — so it doesn’t feel quite right to want to promise those things so soon.

“Hermione?” he says again, my name rolling off his lips so easily now.

With a sigh, I say, “I’m nervous, Draco.”

“But what do you want to do?”

I want to go with him, to live in our own little bubble for the press tour, sleeping in hotel rooms and walking down the streets in countries where we likely won’t be stopped. I want to get to know him better, to fly with him again, to wake up in his arms every morning.

But I’m scared that it won’t last, that he won’t feel the same way about me a few weeks from now, especially once this initial lust dies down.

I draw on the little bit of courage I have and simply reply, “I want to go, but I know I shouldn’t. I know this is all happening so fast.”

Draco kisses me softly and releases my hands so he can cup my face. “It’s fast, but it’s right. Can’t you feel it? Our magic… it’s happy. Hopeful. It wants this.”

“But what if—”

His lips are pressed to mine again, silencing me for a moment. As much as it annoys me, I love the feel of it, the way his whole body moves against mine when he kisses me.

“No what ifs. You know as well as I do that anything could happen tomorrow or the next day or five years from now.” His hand moves down to my thigh, hitching it up around his waist. “I treated you horribly for years, and I want to spend every possible second making it up to you.”

“You don’t need to do that, Draco.”

Next, I feel his mouth on my neck, and he grazes his teeth over the spot that drives me crazy. I let out a sound of pleasure and he does it again. “I know I don’t need to, Hermione, but I want to. Do you want to know why all those other girls were just publicity dates?”

I’m trying to think — I want to respond — but he’s all over me, turning me into a mess of female hormones. I’m sore from all the sex, but I’m also aching for him again, wanting to feel our bodies moving as one again.

“Yes. Tell me,” I manage.

He pulls back and looks me in the eyes. “Because I was waiting for you, sugar quill. Maybe not exactly you, but someone who made me feel this way, like I couldn’t go a single day without touching her. Even before we had sex, I always wanted to touch you.”

I think back and realise he’s telling the truth. From the broom rides, to Apparition, to the party and the bar… He hasn’t really kept his hands off of me.

“And you’re smart and sexy and so fucking brave and powerful,” Draco continues, punctuating the compliments with a thrust of his hips, grinding his hard dick against my centre. “It just makes you perfect. I wish I had realised it years ago.”

I take a deep breath. “I guess the forced proximity really does work.”

Letting out a laugh, he says, “Or the bed sharing. I hear that’s a common one, too.”

“And we had a few days of mutual pining.” Running my hands up and down his muscled back, I add, “And those stories definitely got a couple things right. You’re definitely fit and you fuck like a god.”

Again, he stops and narrows his eyes at me. “How much fanfiction have you read?”

I feel my cheeks heat. “Just a bit.”

He smirks and stands, lifting me off the couch in his strong arms. “If I take you to bed over and over and there’s not much of a story, what is it they call it? 

“Shameless smut. Or porn without plot.”

Draco laughs and sets me down on his kitchen counter, right next to the tub of melting ice cream. He grabs another spoon and scoops some out, offering it to me. I wrap my lips around it, hoping that it looks sexy. When I see his pupils dilate, I know I’ve succeeded. He pulls the spoon away.

“More?” he asks. “Or shall we start the smut?”

Laughing, I say, “More.”

He feeds me another bite, and it’s ridiculous how sexy I find it. However, it’s clear that he’s enjoying it, too. After the second bite, he smears ice cream on my bare thigh, stopping before the hem of my shorts, making me shiver. Feeding me another spoonful, he drops his mouth down, licking the ice cream off my thigh.

“Mmmm, it tastes better on you than on the spoon.”

He sucks a bruise onto my inner thigh, and I’m squirming. I take the spoon out of my mouth and grab more ice cream as he starts to stand. When I press it to his collarbone, letting it drip down his pec, he says, “What are you doing?”

“Testing your theory.”

I set the spoon down and suck along the bone, darting my tongue out to lick up the dribbles. I leave a mark on his pec, and when I look up at him, his eyes are on fire. Wrapping my legs around him, I pull him in closer, kissing him hard. I can taste the ice cream still, and his hands start pulling at the hem of my shirt. We break apart when he gets it off.

“I want to lose myself in you over and over again until we have to leave,” he confesses, staring down at me, a hand on my bare breast.

“So do it,” I murmur against his lips, and he groans.

* * *

While we’re getting ready to leave for Bulgaria, I suddenly realise that Draco hasn’t revisited the conversation about the press tour. While I’m glad he hasn’t, I’m secretly hoping he still wants me to go with him. 

My BlackBerry pings and I pull it from my bag. Ginny.

_ G: Have you and Draco come up for air yet? _

_ H: Seriously? Of course we have. _

_ G: Harry told me how touchy Malfoy was. I hope he’s as good as I’ve always imagined. _

_ H: … _

_ G: Come on! Tell me! _

_ H: No. We’re packing to leave. _

_ G: Please tell me. I need to know. I’m going to be alone while Harry’s off in Bulgaria with the two of you. Give me something to think about. _

_ H: Think about YOUR HUSBAND. Not my… whatever he is. _

_ G: He’s going to be YOUR HUSBAND. _

My heart skips a beat when I read Ginny’s message, and my magic swirls and dances, reaching out for Draco’s.

_ H: Stop. We just started having sex. _

_ G: And I’ll bet it’s excellent. You won’t want to give that up. _

_ H: Still not telling you anything. Nice try, Potter. _

_ G: *glares* _

  
  


I throw my phone back in my bag, ignoring the continuing messages. Draco hears it and comes into the room.

“Potter?” he asks.

  
“The female one, yes,” I answer.

I turn around to collect my book from Draco’s nightstand and he laughs. “Why does she want to know what I’m like in bed?”

“Are you reading my messages?” I shriek. “How did you even figure out how to use it?”

He holds it out of my reach. “They were on the screen when I picked it up. I scrolled up.”

I think of the husband comment, of what I responded with.

He leans down and whispers in my ear, “You can call me your boyfriend, Hermione. And you can tell Mrs. Potter that I did, in fact, make you come again. Multiple times, every time.” Heat courses through my veins, settling in my cheeks. Before he hands me my phone, he kisses me softly, his other hand cradling my face. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, love. I’m sure she’ll be quite jealous. I bet Potter couldn’t find a g-spot with a map, nevermind his cock.”

I can’t help myself — I start laughing uncontrollably, and Draco joins me. 

“But seriously, Hermione, this isn’t just shagging,” he says when we’ve calmed. “Tell them whatever you want. I’m fine with it.”

Nodding, I say, “So you’re my boyfriend now. I wasn’t sure. You said companion, and I said I was yours...”

“I’ll be your boyfriend if you’ll have me, sugar quill.”

I make a show of thinking about it, and he wraps me in his arms. “Remember what your friend said… You won’t want to give up excellent sex.”

Sighing dramatically, I say, “I suppose she’s right. It’s so hard to find a man who knows what to do in bed. I guess I’ll keep you.”

He swats my arse and kisses me, and we’re both smiling, his fingers lacing into my hair and holding me to him.

* * *

When we arrive in Bulgaria, Harry’s sitting in the living room of the suite, looking uncomfortable. He looks at us, and Draco instantly pulls me closer, his hand settling low on my back.

“Hermione. Malfoy,” he greets. “I trust you’ve got this new relationship stage out of your systems?”

“You wish, Potter,” Draco replies. “I, for one, intend to treat my girlfriend the same way I do now forever.”

Forever. He said forever, and my breath catches in my throat.

Harry looks at him, wide-eyed. “Forever?”

“As long as she’ll have me,” he states, not noticing that I’m completely frozen beside him.

“Isn’t it a little soon—”

Draco cuts him off. “It’s soon, yes, but that is my intention.”

Harry nods, and it seems that neither of them have noticed my uncharacteristic silence. “Well, your bedroom is over there. Remember, no Silencing Charms, so be bloody respectful,” he grumbles. “We can head to the pitch whenever you’re ready to.”

“Let us unpack,” Draco replies, guiding me towards the door to our shared bedroom. “We’ll say an hour or so from now. I want to go when it’s starting to get dark since the match will be at night. I want the lighting to be right.”

Harry looks confused, and I nearly roll my eyes at him. “He likes to create a game plan,” I state. “He’s good because he actually works at this and has a strategy.”

“What strategy is there to looking for the snitch?” Harry asks with a snort.

I shake my head and look up at Draco. “See? I told you. He thinks it’s all luck!”

“You can come up with us while we fly, Potter. I’ll tell you what the pros do. I taught Hermione about it in France,” Draco says.

Harry looks to me, shocked. “You’ve been flying?”

“I have. I’ve gone up on my own and with Draco.”

“But you don’t fly!”

I offer him a shrug. “Apparently I do.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?” Harry asks, and I laugh, thinking of the time Ron had said the exact same thing to me.

Draco looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, she’s still Hermione Granger. She’s just a bit more adventurous with the right partner.”

The innuendo is clear, though Harry doesn’t seem to catch it. Typical.

“I’ve flown before, Harry,” I say. 

“But you haven’t flown with us!” 

I look him straight in the eyes. “You stopped asking. People change between the ages of seventeen and twenty-seven.” Guilt colors his features, and I walk over to him. “Listen, Harry, it’s not your fault. Draco provoked me into it, and I found I quite liked it. Especially when I flew with him.”

Looking at Draco, he says, “You really are something else.”

“He is. He’s good for me,” I whisper to Harry when I hug him tightly. “Don’t give him a hard time. He already doubts himself enough.”

Harry’s arms wrap around me again, and they’re so familiar. “Okay. As long as he doesn’t hurt you, I’ll behave.”

His whisper isn’t as quiet as mine had been.

“Bloody hell, Potter, I’m not going to hurt her.” Laughing, I let go of Harry and walk back to Draco. He grabs my hand and kisses it. “I plan on keeping her satisfied so that she sticks around.”

“Disgusting,” Harry mumbles.

“Potter, you pervert! I didn’t mean it only sexually!”

But I know he’s trying to make Harry uncomfortable. I pull him into the bedroom and close the door, pressing him against it once it’s closed and kissing him hard. He groans and his hands travel straight down to my arse, grabbing it. Just as he moves to reverse our positions, I step back.

“Stop torturing Harry, or I’ll start torturing you like this,” I say, slowly running a hand over his hard cock and pulling it away when I reach the tip, but I can tell it’s not as effective as I’d hoped.

He smirks at me. “It would be easier to believe you if your eyes weren’t filled with lust right now. Torturing me will only torture you, Granger, and I think you have a little bit more self-preservation in you than you care to acknowledge.”

He’s right, but I will never admit it to him.

“But I’ll be nice to your precious Potter. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing a lot of him from now on,” Draco adds. 

Nodding, I say, “Good. Now let’s unpack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to put another chapter or two out next week so I can wrap this up by February 1. No promises, though.


	14. Chapter Fourteen - Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words cannot even express how sorry I am that it's taken me this long to update. See end note for a full apology.

Harry Potter needs to die.

I know he’s the Chosen One or The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice and all that rubbish, but he really needs to fucking die. Or at least get his own bloody hotel room.

It’s been two days since we left London and Hermione hasn’t let me touch her. Even when we go to bed at night, she tells me no, that she won’t have sex with Potter in the same suite. We’re not even sharing a bedroom for Merlin’s sake, but she’s too self-conscious, saying he’ll hear her when she comes.

I think about the noises she makes — the sighs, the moans, the panting — and I know she’s right, he would hear a lot. When she really gets going, she screams loud enough to wake an army of Inferi. However, as a hot blooded man, I have to admit I really don’t care if Potter hears us fucking or not. If I can make my girl scream, he should ask for pointers and call it a day.

But she’s not willing. 

She wants me — that much is obvious by the way her eyes are darkened and the way she presses her thighs together. Oh, and she dry humps me in her sleep like she’ll never get shagged again. She spoons against me, pressing her arse into my cock, but if I try to touch her, she stops me. She’s even said it would be near impossible to get the bespectacled git out of her mind long enough to climax, and as frustrating as that is to hear, I get it.

Honestly, if I were thinking of him, I wouldn’t be able to come, either.

If only I could kill Potter and get away with it…

The pent-up sexual frustration is turning me into a right arsehole, making me fly more aggressively during practice and snap at my teammates. I’m craving her like a drug, and I’m wound so tightly that the smallest thing could make me combust. The sexual tension is a living, breathing thing whenever she’s near me, and we’ve not been apart for more than a few hours over the past week. I don’t know if she’s planning on letting me into her knickers before the match or not, but fuck, I’ve never felt so vicious.

It might give me an edge, now that I think about it properly.

When I wake up the morning of the match, I try to coax her into the shower with me. Even if she won’t let me fuck her, I need to feel her naked skin against mine. 

“Granger, please. I promise I won’t try to fuck you. I need this — just a few minutes of us before the match,” I whisper in her ear before hooking her leg over my hip.

When she feels my hard dick press against her clit, she shivers. Looking at the clock, she says, “Okay... Yes, let’s get in the shower. If I had to guess, Harry isn’t even awake yet.”

_ Thank fucking Merlin.  _

I roll over, pulling her with me so she’s straddling me, and she grinds down. Her knickers and my shorts are the only things between us and I can feel her warmth. Breathing shakily, she repeats the motion and I know she’s just as desperate for me as I am for her. When she moves again, I meet her, arching my hips up and pressing myself against her more firmly.

She moans quietly.

When I look up at her, I can see her hardening nipples through her tank top, and my hands go to her breasts of their own accord. We rock again and I grope her.

“Sit up,” she commands, and I’m powerless to stop myself. 

Following her order, I shift and she raises herself up, stripping her shirt off. I groan and suck a nipple into my mouth, making her cry out. Her cunt isn’t pressed against me anymore and my cock gets even harder, stretching towards her, trying to find her heat again.

“Draco,” she breathes, her hand gripping the hair on the back of my head.

Her skin is so sweet, even when it’s not covered in ice cream, and I move to her other breast. My fingers take over on the other nipple, and I feel her free hand move to her clit, rubbing at it furiously.

I tilt my head and look up at her face. She’s on the edge and her hand is speeding up. I pull it away, halting her pleasure, and she groans.

“Oh no, sugar quill. You’re not coming until it’s at my hand,” I whisper in her ear. “Or better yet, around my cock.”

I’m praying that she’s wound up enough to forget about Potter. I want to slide my shorts down and push her knickers to the side. I want her to ride me, to take her pleasure from me.

But she doesn’t.

She pulls away and I let her. Her cheeks are flushed with arousal and her hair is a glorious mess from sleep. When she looks at me, her eyes are the darkest I’ve seen them.

“Shower,” she says, her voice breathy.

As she walks to the bathroom, she peels her knickers off, leaving the blue lace on the floor. I groan and follow, repeating her motion and dropping my pants on the hotel carpet. When I cross the threshold into the bathroom, she’s bending forward to turn the water on.

I could just slide right inside of her. I know she’s wet enough. She’s always ready for me, and she was on the verge of climax until I stopped her… 

But I said I wouldn’t try to fuck her.

I settle for sliding my fingers along her slit, teasing her. It also teases me because I feel how wet she is, how greedy her pussy is, opening to me when my finger traces over her entrance. When she straightens, she turns around and kisses me passionately, the fire between us raging. Her hand moves down to my cock and strokes it firmly, squeezing the head and smearing precome all over her palm.

And then she kills me again.

  
Breaking the kiss, she pulls back and licks her palm, tasting me before moving her hand back down and stroking me. Her eyes are smouldering and I take her mouth again, violently thrusting my tongue between her lips, making her whimper. I grab her and move her away from the shower, pressing her into the wall beside the door, one hand gripping her arse. The water must be scorching hot; the air is thick with steam. It intensifies everything. I feel her hand release me again and I press my cock firmly against the apex of her thighs, rocking against her.

“Please,” she pleads. “Make me come."

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you,” I hiss. “I also said you wouldn’t come until it was around my cock.”

  
“Or at your hand,” she reminds me. “I’ll return the favour.”

Leaning my forehead against hers, I say, “Why are we not having sex right now? Especially if we’re going to get each other off.”

“Because once we start, you know we won’t stop, and you have a very busy day today.”

I can admit she’s right, but I’d still rather bury myself inside her than get off in her hand. However, I decide to take what I can get. It’ll likely take the edge off.

“Draco,” she pants when I rock against her clit again. “Please.”

My hand travels down from her arse to the back of her thigh, and she parts her legs just enough for me to slide my fingers inside of her. As soon as I do, she moans and squeezes them tightly.

“Fuck,” I groan, burying my face in her neck as I fuck her with my fingers and slide my cock against her folds. “I want you. I need to have my dick inside you. Now.”

She doesn’t respond, her mind slowly leaving her and only focusing on her pleasure. The soft sighs and moans are just as sexy as the screams I pulled from her in London, and I can feel her starting to tremble.

“Are you going to come for me?”

She nods, letting out a whimper. I press my cock more firmly against her clit and gently move my hips. After a few strokes, moving in tandem with my fingers over her g-spot, she releases, her mouth greedily latching on to the skin of my neck and sucking hard, muffling the cries of her climax.

Once she calms, I slide my fingers out of her and move them to my mouth, tasting her for the first time in days. She watches me fellate my own fingers and I can see her desire building again, the shivers running along her spine.

Letting out a shaky exhale, she drops to her knees and immediately sucks the head of my cock into her mouth.

“I didn’t know mouths were an option,” I say stupidly, gently thrusting between her lips. “I would’ve eaten your pussy.”

She moans and the vibrations around my dick are  _ everything _ . 

I cup her jaw with one hand, my gentle touch at odds with the oral sex that’s starting to border on rough. She’s sucking hard and sliding fast, her fingernails digging into my arse as she pulls on my hips, taking me deeper down her throat.

“Granger, I want you to come with me,” I say in the heat of the moment. “Can you do that?”

One of her hands releases my arse and I watch it slide between her legs. 

“I’m close, so focus on getting yourself there.”

Her eyes flutter open and meet mine as I pull out of her mouth. She cries out in surprise. “I’m already ready,” she pants. 

“Good girl,” I praise, and her eyes widen just a bit, enough to let me know that she’s probably got an unexplored kink. 

I slide back between her lips and watch as she gives me head, her tongue pressing hard against the underside of my cock. I take note of everything from her long eyelashes to her small nose to the way her lips look when they’re wrapped around me. I nearly shatter when she looks back at me, her brown eyes putting me under a spell. She’s close to coming, and I stop holding back, starting to move with her again, gripping her hair and keeping her head in place. 

“Are you ready?” I ask, and she nods. “I’m so close.”

She slides her lips all the way down my shaft, swallowing around me, allowing me into her throat. She starts coming — I can feel the sounds she’s trying to make rather than hear them — and I move gently, not wanting to hurt her, coming down her throat after a few short thrusts. 

I pull back and she slumps against the wall, breathing heavily.

“You’re perfect,” I murmur, getting to my knees and cupping her face in my palms. “That was so good. Thank you.”

Smiling, she kisses me and I happily accept, not pulling away even as I lift her and move towards the shower.

Even though I’ve just experienced an amazing climax, I want more. I’m still craving her body like a drug — desperate for the blissful oblivion that only Hermione can bring me — but this little hit may just hold me over until tonight.

And it may just save Potter’s life.

* * *

When we step out of the bedroom, Potter glares at us. “That was a really long shower.”

Hermione blushes crimson and I smirk at him, but I don’t say a word. I know I don’t have to.

“Draco!” Hermione snaps. “Do you really need to be such an insufferable arse?!”

Shrugging, I say, “He started it with the innuendo. I’m not going to deny that we just—” 

“Draco,” she hisses, her eyes burning with rage.

Little does she know, it makes me want her all the more. Or all over again. Whatever.

Her arms are folded beneath her breasts, pushing them up, and I nearly groan at the sight. On top of that, her lips are pursed in a way that makes me want to kiss them until they’re relaxed and pliant against mine. She’s so fucking hot when she’s angry.

“Well, I’m starving,” Potter states. “I didn’t realise I’d be waiting so long for you to join me.”

“Harry, that’s enough,” she snaps, and I'm happy to see her ire directed at him. “Do I have to remind you that I was at Grimmauld Place right after the war? When Ginny was sneaking over in the middle of the night?”

Removing his glasses, Potter rubs his eyes, not making eye contact with Hermione.

“And there is no way you heard anything,” she adds. “I made sure I was quiet, which is more than I can say for your wife.”

Potter sighs. “Fine. Point taken.”

“Good,” Hermione replies. “Now, since you’re clearly about to expire from starvation, let’s order breakfast. We’ve got a full morning of pre-match press, a short break this afternoon, and then the match tonight.”

As she finishes speaking, her BlackBerry vibrates, pulling her focus. She looks at the screen and I watch as the color drains from her face. She glances at me nervously.

“It’s Viktor,” she states. “I’m just going to tell him that I won’t be able to see him before the match.”

In my head, I’m screaming for her to tell the wanker that she won’t be coming to see him ever again, but I know that’s wrong and she won’t take kindly to it. Instead, I answer, “Good. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not like I’m the one in danger, Mr. Big Important Seeker.”

_ No, but that arsehole still wants you. _

Shrugging my shoulders, I say, “I know. It doesn’t mean I want you to go and meet him, even if it’s only for a quick _chat_.”

I emphasize the word  chat , hoping that she’ll understand my meaning, that this should be a chat where she tells him off.

Granger kisses my cheek, trying to give me the reassurance she instinctively knows I need. “I realise you don’t like the—” she pauses, searching for the right words to say, “—dynamic we had. I’m going to tell him that you and I are together when I see him tomorrow. I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.”

“Hermione,” Potter interrupts. “Do you want me to leave so the two of you can talk about this?”

  
She shakes her head. “No, we’re done now. I don’t think he needs any further explanation.”

Meeting my eyes, I know she’s waiting for me to fight her. But I don’t. I just move closer and drop a kiss on her forehead. “We’re clear, sugar quill. Just make sure he knows it’s completely over between you two.”

* * *

The day is an absolute fucking whirlwind. I’m photographed over and over, but always alone. Hermione steers clear of the cameras, and I’m not shocked. I know she’s always hated her fame and the press. While I answer the inane questions, she stands on the sidelines, on alert and looking around even though she’s technically not working right now. 

Potter is beside her, and I smirk to myself. The important members of the Golden Trio are keeping me safe, and I want to laugh out loud. A camera flashes, likely capturing the smug look I had on my face, and then I’m pulled away again. While I’m never out of their line of sight, they’re constantly out of mine.

Honestly, I don’t understand why they couldn’t have done this press bullshit at some point over the past two days. Making me go through it on the day of the match is a special, fucked up kind of torture, and I fully intend to give Abbott a piece of my mind about it. I haven’t seen the Bulgarians going through the ringer today.

“I think we need some photos of you in your Seeker robes,” the photographer says, summoning them from a nearby rack. “As good as you look without them, I’m sure we can get some swoon-worthy photos with them, as well.”

I sigh, hating this part of my job more and more by the minute. Looking over my shoulder, I see Hermione and Potter are just standing there, incredibly bored. Before I disappear into the small changing area, I shoot her a wink that says ‘ _ why don’t you come join me?’ _ and make her blush.

I’m only out of sight for about two minutes, but after I change into my robes, I hear something unwelcome.

“Hermione, I’ve been looking for you all over the stadium.”

Fucking Krum. When I turn around, his hulking frame is wrapped around her, her head barely peeking over his shoulder as he hugs her. I narrow my eyes and she wriggles, trying to free herself, but he holds on. I see his head turn slightly, his lips moving to her ear to whisper something. 

Before I can intervene, Potter breaks it up. “Viktor! So good to see you again!”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and Potter tells him the Ministry wanted to send extra security for this particular match.

Nodding, Krum replies, “Ah, yes, for the Death Eater.”

My blood boils, making me see red. I’m reaching for my wand, and then I hear her voice.

“Viktor! He is  _ not  _ a Death Eater!”

Looking over at me, Krum says, “Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater. Some marks never fade.”

Hermione glares at him. “For your information, he never wanted to be a Death Eater—”

Krum cuts her off. “I remember him from Hogwarts, Hermione. Isn’t he the one who called you Mudblood over and over? Made you cry? And made your teeth grow?”

She averts her eyes, and my stomach twists. I was. I had done those horrible things to her, and now he's popped our little bubble, reminding her of who I was before. 

Unexpectedly, Potter comes to my defense. “We were fourteen at the time, Viktor, and he came from a family of blood purists. He’d never known anything else, and when he was sixteen, he was forced to take the Dark Mark.”

I move to Hermione’s side, ignoring Krum completely, and lift her chin up so she meets my eyes. “Sugar quill…” A small smile crosses her face, and I lean in to whisper in her ear, standing so close I can smell her perfume. “You’ve forgiven me, right?”

I feel her nod and kiss her cheek. Before I realise what’s happening, she turns her head, capturing my lips and kissing me in front of everyone. Chatter erupts and cameras flash — every major wizarding publication in the world is represented, and the Golden Girl is claiming me in front of them all. When I hear a frustrated groan from Potter, or maybe Krum, I pull her closer and deepen the kiss.

She doesn’t pull away, and I know she’s really mine.

If she had any doubts, she wouldn't be kissing me in front of reporters and cameras, making it easy for the whole world to see. 

I hold on tight, not letting go until she decides it's time to break the kiss. And even then, her fingers are still clutching my robes when I let go of her.

_She's mine._

When we look back to where Krum had been standing, Potter says, "He stormed off. Nice job, Hermione. He's probably going to murder Malfoy during the match."

I scoff. "He can try."

"Don't worry, my Dragon," she replies. "I'll guard you with my life."

* * *

Minutes before the match, I’m standing in the waiting area that’s been designated for English players. Potter is nearby, likely Polyjuiced so he blends in. I can’t see Granger from where I am, but I’m sure she’s in the place we’d decided on yesterday, wearing my jumper.

As much as I want to win this match, I feel like I’ve already got the top prize. She makes me happier than Quidditch ever could.

“Malfoy!” Wood shouts. “You’re here with us tonight, right? Did you get your fill of Granger on your little holiday home?”

Glaring at him, I reply, “I’ll never really get my fill of her, but yes, I’m here with you.”

My teammates laugh, but I don’t care. Wood starts giving his customary pep talk, and I half listen. Usually, he just spouts a lot of rubbish.

I don’t need to hear what he’s saying; I’m already motivated to catch the Snitch. The faster I find it, the faster I get to take Hermione back to the hotel, kick Potter to the curb, and celebrate in my favourite way.

I think I’ll fuck her like I did in my original wank fantasy tonight. I’ll get her on all fours, wearing my jersey, and I’ll make her promise to go on the press tour with me. I won't let her come until she's committed to it.

Shaking my head, I start trying to clear my thoughts again. I can’t be thinking about shagging right now. I need to fucking win this match so I can have no regrets about my internation career and settle down at home. For good. With my little sugar quill.

When I hear my name announced, I mount my broom and fly out onto the pitch, my robes billowing behind me. Leaning closer to the broom handle, I speed up, heading towards where I know Granger will be waiting. She’s leaning over the railing, smiling at me, and I stop in front of her, kissing her quickly for good luck. 

Again, cameras flash, and when I pull away, we’re both smiling. The crowd is loud, but I hear her wish me good luck, and I speed away, feeling like I could conquer the world right now if I really wanted to. I head to the center of the pitch where my teammates are waiting, ready to accept their cracks about Hermione and how she’s got me whipped so fast.

However, we don’t have much time; the Bulgarian team is already being announced and heading for the centre of the pitch. Krum glares at me, and I just smirk, smug with the knowledge that I have what he so badly wants. 

The referee lays down the rules, but we all know they won’t be followed. This is the World Cup championship match, and we’re all in it to win it. When the balls are released, I catch a glimpse of the Snitch and I’m off, moving in the direction it traveled in. Interestingly enough, Krum heads in the opposite direction. We’re on his home turf, so I’m sure he has a better strategy than I do.

The Snitch has quickly disappeared, so I start searching, examining my landmarks and keeping my eyes focused on glints of gold. Since it’s nighttime, the magical lights change the way everything looks. I’m listening to the commentary, and I know we’ve got a small lead already, even if I’m not watching the Chasers. I’ve been flying above them, trying to stay out of the way. I’m so focused on the Snitch tonight that I don’t even hear Krum approaching me.

“You don’t deserve her,” he shouts, his voice somehow making its way over the sound of the crowd.

_ Like I don’t know that already. _

I don’t even look at him when I reply. “That doesn’t mean I won’t count my lucky stars that she doesn’t seem to know that, Krum!”

“She’ll figure it out eventually!” he growls before speeding away.

I tail him, wondering if he’s seen the Snitch, but it becomes apparent that he hasn’t. He’s just trying to rattle me. I refocus and check all the landmarks again, thinking about how I’d flown with Granger on my broom. She’d actually picked a few for me, and we’d both schooled Potter on actual Seeking technique.

Potter had been flabbergasted that she had known more about it than he had, though I’m not sure why. She’s always been a fast learner.

Smiling to myself, I keep scanning the skies and the ground, dodging Bludgers when they come hurtling at me, and flying at a measured pace. I sneak a peek at Granger when I fly by her spot, and Marcus is standing with her again. They’re smiling and laughing, and she’s got her BlackBerry out. I imagine she’s giving Weaselette updates on the match.

_ Focus, Draco. If you were the Snitch, where would you hide out in this godforsaken crowd? _

Krum comes up and plows into me, his bulky shoulder jarring me and snapping my concentration. Speeding up, he flies ahead of me, and I chase after him. While the bathroom escapades took the edge off my aggression this morning, it’s not completely gone.

It won’t be completely gone until I’ve buried myself deep inside of my witch again.

“Seriously? We’re going to play it this way, Krum?” I snarl, knocking him back.

I feel like I’m back at Hogwarts playing against Potter, trying to prove I’m better than everyone’s favourite.

“I’ve wanted her for years!” he replies. “And then she goes on this little trip with you — the spoiled, selfish Death Eater — and suddenly she’s in love? What have you done to her?”

And it strikes me that he’s said she’s in love. 

That little word has not passed either of our lips, but I’ve been thinking it every time I look at her.

“I’ve done nothing but show her how she deserves to be treated,” I snap back, my eyes still darting around. “You couldn’t be bothered to invest your time in her, so you blew your fucking chance!”

He hits me again and I growl in frustration. This is no way to find the Snitch.

“I don’t believe you!” he shouts. “Hermione would never love you unless she was under a spell or a potion!”

I try to block out the doubts he’s planting in my mind, but it’s difficult. Obviously I know I haven’t dosed her with anything more than multiple orgasms and a healthy dose of banter, but I can see his point. She does deserve someone much better than me, but I’m selfish enough that I’ll keep her if she wants to stay. I’ll grab hold of this chance — this blessing — the Gods have given me and never let go.

I quickly swivel and fly in the opposite direction, not willing to play his little game or keep listening to his commentary on my relationship with Hermione. I don’t need to doubt myself, to doubt her, because of things he’s saying to get under my skin.

My sudden change of direction leads the crowd to believe I’ve seen the Snitch, and I play along, rocketing towards the ground. Krum does the same and then I swoop back up, looking around again. I hear his frustrated groan and laugh to myself.

“—and England leads with a score of 80 to 40!” the commentator shouts after one of our Chasers scores a goal.

We’re not even close to a 150 point lead, so I  _ need _ to find the Snitch before Krum does. Preferably sooner rather than later so I can get back in the bubble with Hermione.

In my head, I replay the lesson I’d given Potter in the empty stadium, making myself focus on the basics. Nine times out of ten, the basics can help to win a match, and most professionals forget about them, too wrapped up in performing the perfect Wronski Feint or Sloth-Grip Rolls to avoid Bludgers.

Fancy moves don’t necessarily help a Seeker catch the Snitch. If anything, they’re simply diversionary tactics.

_ Find a dark backdrop and consistently look over at it. _

There are five in this stadium, and I fly a few laps, looking at each of them in turn. I don’t see anything golden, unless you count the Golden Girl who I strategically place in front of one of them. Each time I pass, she smiles at me, and it makes me even more determined to find the Snitch and end this match so I can get back to her.

  
So I can kick Potter to the curb and get her naked again.

So I can take her around the world with me on this press tour.

I refocus, admitting to myself that constantly flying by my main distraction at eye-level is not really the best strategy.

_ Change altitudes and angles. _

I raise myself twenty feet and repeat the backdrop search and then do the same from a lower vantage point. I tighten my laps, looking at things from farther away.

_ Periodically scan the skies and the ground. _

Again, I head for the ground, and Krum doesn’t follow me this time. I look for the Snitch along the barriers that keep the crowd off the grass, against every window of the private boxes. Foreign wizards watch me, their expressions unreadable. Half of them remind me of my father, dressed in formal robes for a sporting event. 

My father might even be here, but I have no idea. He never tells me when he deigns a match important enough to show up for. He never comes just to watch me; he disapproves of this career, saying I’m wasting my time and magical talents, stuck in a perpetual loop of immature teenage antics.

In my head, I always tell him that I likely am since I never really got to be a normal fucking teenager. 

I’m sure he is here if there’s a chance to network with other wealthy, powerful wizards. 

Which means he likely saw my kiss with Granger and is seething mad.

  
Shaking my head, I erase that thought from my mind and refocus again. My daddy issues are not important right now.

The ground levels have been checked, so it’s time to search the sky.

I fly above the madness, above the lights, and look around. It’s so dark, but the magical lights do recognise movement, casting rays upwards. I watch as the higher altitude is flooded with light, and I catch a glint of gold metres away from me. Taking off, I speed towards it, keeping my eyes focused on it. It darts around, changing directions as if it knows I’ve spotted it. I can vaguely hear the crowd around me, but I try to block it out.

I wonder if Krum is flying towards me, trying to see what I see. Just as I extend my arm, he bumps me, trying to knock me off course, but I’m ready for it. I manage to grab the wing of the Snitch and pull it into my palm.

“It’s mine, Krum!” I shout. “Just like Granger!”

  
As I dip back down and start heading for my girl, planning to give her the Snitch and tell her that I’m pretty sure I love her, I’m hit with a jet of dark magic — a hex or a curse that sizzles against my robes — and I don’t have time to think before my world goes black and I start falling towards the ground.

Hundreds of feet below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger!
> 
> Okay, so let me explain...
> 
> After I finished Every Part of Me, I hit a wall of writer's block like never before. I fell into such a funk that I really can't even explain it. Other than the few one-shot type things I posted during LoveFest, I couldn't manage to string ten words together. I sat down and tried working on this chapter about fifty times, along with my new WIP, and nothing was working for me.
> 
> That being said, I hope this chapter turned out okay! I have Chapter 15 about halfway done, and then we should only have the epilogue left. I'm going to estimate that this will be complete early April.
> 
> Also, starting Saturday, April 4th, I'll be posting The Memory of You. I have about 15 chapters prewritten, so plenty of buffer there. When I couldn't write, I was able to at least edit what I had for that story. It was just hard for me to make new words!


	15. Chapter Fifteen - Hermione and Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a little bit different. I have both POVs in here, but I'll mark where they separate clearly. I didn't have enough to say from Hermione's POV and I had the lemon at the end written already. I had to be in Draco's head for that. lol
> 
> Enjoy!

**Hermione**

* * *

When Draco’s fingers close around the Snitch, the stadium erupts into both cheers and boos, and I jump into Marcus’ arms. He spins me around once and then we hear shocked gasps. My head whips around just in the nick of time to see Draco tumble off his broom, his body quickly falling towards the ground. 

As I grab my wand, I see Harry on the pitch, casting quickly. 

_ Arresto Momentum _.

The words are in my head, but my wand never points at Draco. I can see he’s slowed somewhat, but it’s not enough, and even if it had been, he still would’ve been hurt. Coming to a dead stop from that height would cause damage no matter what.

“Cushioning charm!” Marcus shouts, prompting me to point my wand at the pitch.

Screaming the incantation, I pray it’s strong enough to transform the whole playing field. With an area that large, there are no guarantees. I see Marcus adding his own spell to the mix right before Draco hits the ground. 

I release the charm and start running down the stairs. Marcus grabs my shoulder and quickly Apparates us to the ground level, and I make a mental note to thank him later — my first instinct would never be Apparition in this situation. 

When I reach the gate, I hold out my DMLE credentials, desperate to get onto the pitch. Every part of me is screaming that I need to get to Draco, need to make sure that he’s okay. I know he’s going to be injured; there’s no way he could fall from that height and be totally unharmed, but I’m praying to every god and goddess that he’s not too bad off.

One of the security wizards starts speaking, my temper flares. “We’re sorry, but we can’t let anyone through—”

“Don’t you know who I am?” I hiss.

He looks at me with disgust. “It doesn’t matter who you are—” 

“I’m Hermione Granger! I’m Malfoy’s bodyguard! You need to let me through!” I shriek, trying to push my way past them. “Someone else could be attacking him right now! We don’t know who fired that spell in the first place!”

Again, the security guard glares at me. “If you’re his bodyguard, you’re aware of security protocol. In the event of an emergency, everything gets locked down!”

I scream in frustration as tears start to stream down my cheeks. “He’s my responsibility!”

“Miss, please stop. You’re making a scene,” one of the men says, and my blood boils.

Without even thinking about it, I draw my wand and the men turn theirs on me, waiting for me to cast first. Instead of hexing them, I send a Patronus to _ Harry Potter _, a name they clearly recognise. Moments later, Harry runs to the barrier, grabs my hand and helps me over.

“I’ll deal with them later,” he growls, glaring at the security guards.

“How is he?” I ask, and by the look on Harry’s face, I know Draco’s badly hurt.

“Alive. It looks like he was stunned. The medi-witches are working on him now. He’s definitely got some broken bones and a head injury. They haven’t revived him yet,” Harry says.

At the mention of a head injury, my stomach sinks. That could mean many different things, and I’m so bloody nervous. 

Ahead of us, I see Healers and medi-witches crouching down. I know Draco’s lying in the middle of that circle. There are empty potion vials littering the ground and, as I move closer, I can see his neck is in a brace. A backboard is being magicked into place underneath him, getting him ready for transport. When I see the angle his arm is at, I know it’s severely broken, and there is blood staining his platinum hair.

The rest of the English team is standing nearby looking solemn and the Bulgarians have already retreated into their locker room. While England has won, it clearly feels like a loss to the team right now.

And as for me?

  
Well, I’m devastated. I can’t get near Draco. I want to throw myself on top of him, to let him know that I’m here with him, but I know that won’t help. Even if I did, he’s not conscious and wouldn’t realise I was there.

Harry holds my hand tightly and we both scan our surroundings, making sure no one else is trying to get to Draco. When they finally start moving him towards the exit, we follow and they give us a Portkey to the hospital they’re taking him to. As much as I want to take him home to St. Mungo’s — somewhere I know he’ll be safe — I don’t argue. He needs immediate medical attention and this team of Healers has already been treating him.

When we land in the hospital waiting room, my stomach turns so violently that I lunge for the rubbish bin, vomiting up the chips I’d eaten at the match. The stress of the situation and magical travel must have combined to make me sick. As I kneel on the floor, my brain is flooding with panic, making me dizzy. 

I cover my eyes with my hands as I try to focus on breathing deeply, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Deep down, I know I haven’t panicked like this in ages. I’m literally frozen with it at the moment. Harry crouches down beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder and pulling me back to the here and now.

Once I’m able to move again, he wraps an arm around my waist, steadying me. “He’s going to be okay,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ve had worse Quidditch injuries and the medical team got to him right away.”

Silently, I nod, though I don’t really believe him. Draco’s fall was much worse than any of Harry’s at Hogwarts had been. 

And he was bleeding from the head.

Harry shows the witch at the emergency desk his credentials and asks what room Draco Malfoy is in. When she answers him, we make our way down the hall and peek in through the small window in the door. The Healers are still working, though I can see his head’s been bandaged and his arm has been set in a natural position.

Conjuring two chairs, Harry gestures for me to sit. It’s clear he thinks it could be a while before we can go in to see Draco.

Suddenly, I think of his parents. “Do you think we should send word to Lucius and Narcissa?”

Shaking his head, Harry says, “I’m sure Abbott already has.”

“Wouldn’t they be here?” I ask.

Harry shrugs. “I’m sure they will be eventually. Lucius has to get special clearance to leave the country, so if they weren’t here already, it’ll take a while for them to go through the appropriate channels.”

While it seems strange to me that Narcissa didn’t come immediately, I accept his answer and sit beside him, leaning my head against his shoulder. As I think about Draco and everything that’s happened in the past week, I start crying again. Just one week ago, he was nothing more than part of my job. He was the annoying git who’d bullied me all through Hogwarts, and I’d thought he’d be exactly the same ten years later. I didn’t think he’d be charming or fun to be around. And I never would’ve imagined falling into bed with him.

If anyone had told me that I’d end up falling for him, I would’ve said they’d had too much firewhisky.

Stereotypically, a slideshow of memories from the past week starts playing in my head. I see him smirking at me in his flat, arguing with me while we were flying in France, pulling me onto his broomstick… 

I see his eyes watching me at the party as I talk to Oliver, his laugh when he realises what I’ve done with the intent line, his face when we were dancing at the party… 

I remember him groaning as he pleasured himself in the shower, and now I know he had been thinking of me… and I want to know what that fantasy entailed. I want to make it come true for him. 

I see our misunderstanding in Ireland and the subsequent fallout at the match.

And then my brain switches immediately to a porno; I see us shagging all over the place in nearly every position, though I’m quickly realising we’d missed one of the basics, and I make another mental note to rectify that.

Just as the loop in my mind is starting over, the door opens and the Healers step out, looking at Harry and me. While they look a bit tired, they don’t look defeated, and that makes me feel a bit better.

“Are you Hermione?” a female Healer asks.

After wiping my eyes, I stand and shake her hand. “Yes, I’m Hermione Granger.”

“We woke him momentarily and he was asking for you, but we’ve sedated him again. He has some brain swelling and we need to keep him unconscious until it goes down.” 

Swallowing hard, I ask, “And how long do you think that will take?”

“It varies. We’re hoping he’ll be well enough tomorrow morning. He also has to regrow several bones that were damaged beyond repair overnight, so it’s good that he’s asleep,” she explains. “You’re more than welcome to sit with him tonight. It’s his right arm that’s damaged, so don’t try to hold that hand.”

“He was bleeding… from his head…”

Understanding my unspoken question, she answers, “His scalp split. There was no fracturing or anything like that.”

Thank Merlin and Morgana.

“Just go sit with him, Hermione,” Harry says. “I’ll get all the relevant information and pass it along to you. He’d want you there with him.”

And with that, I enter the room, my eyes scanning him from head to toe. His right arm is strapped to his body with a sling and the bandage around his head has a small amount of blood seeping through. His right leg looks like it’s secured to the bed and I wonder if he’d somehow fallen on his side, his arm and leg taking the brunt of the impact.

I summon my chair and place it on the left side of the bed, taking his hand in mine and kissing each of his fingers.

“I’m so sorry, Draco. I wish I could’ve stopped this,” I murmur against his skin. “I’m here now. I’m sorry I didn’t react fast enough at the match.”

He obviously doesn’t reply, and even though it’s expected, the silence is killing me.

I lean forward, resting our entwined hands on the mattress beside him and my head against his abdomen. Once again, my tears start flowing and I just want him to wake up. I want to know that he’s okay, that he remembers me — remembers us — and that he still wants me to come with him when he goes on the press tour.

However, for right now, I can only hold his hand and hope that things are better in the morning.

A few minutes later, Harry enters the room with another Healer, prompting me to sit up and lift my head off of Draco.

“No need to move,” the Healer says kindly. “I’m just here to check his vitals.”

I watch as a magical cuff forms around his arm, taking the usual measurements and displaying the numbers in the air over him. 

“Everything appears to be in order. If you want, Ms. Granger, you can extend the bed and climb in beside him. As long as you stay clear of his right arm, everything will be fine.”

Harry helps me stand and adds the extra space to the bed for me, not waiting for me to answer. I climb in beside Draco, resting my head on his shoulder and lacing my fingers through his again. Harry takes the chair beside the bed and transfigures it into a chaise, and I’m so grateful that he’s staying with me.

Tipping my head up, I bring my lips to Draco’s ear and whisper, “I miss you, you prat. Hurry back to me.”

* * *

I sleep fitfully, waking up several times throughout the night. Each time, I snuggle closer to Draco, sharing my body heat with him. I drop gentle kisses along his jaw and murmur to him, hoping that he’ll hear me or feel me and wake up. 

But he doesn’t. 

I try to be patient and keep in mind that he’s very, very hurt and that the Healers are likely keeping him sedated for a reason, but all I want is for him to wake up. I want to hear him drawl _ Granger _ or _ sugar quill _ or anything, really, just so I know he’s okay.

“Hermione?” Harry says, his voice sleepy. “Are you awake again?”

Turning my head, I face him. “I am. I keep waking up. I’m worried about him.”

“They told you he wouldn’t wake up tonight. Do I need to get you a Calming Draught or something?” he asks.

“Actually,” I begin, “that’s not a terrible idea. My nerves are shot. If they’re willing to give me one, I’ll take it.”

He rises from the chaise and stretches, his arms extending far over his head. “I’ll get you something. You can’t be up ‘round the clock till he wakes up.”

With that, he walks out the door, and I look up at the values on the wall. Draco’s blood pressure and pulse and oxygen levels are all normal. I try to take that as a good sign. Nuzzling back into position, I start talking again.

“I think you should really wake up in the morning, Draco. The people will want to see the Dragon, and I’m sure there are going to be plenty of British teams lining up to offer you contracts after this. Your arm will be perfectly fine since they’re regrowing the bones instead of trying to heal them in a shoddy manner.” I pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. “You know, we have this whole press tour to go on, and if you don’t wake up, you’re never going to find out that I’ve decided to come with you. I mean, don’t you want to say you’ve won and gloat about it?” 

My lips trace the column of his throat, and while I should probably feel weird kissing an unconscious person, I just don’t. I want to bring him comfort in any way I can, and I know that if he was awake, he’d want me to be kissing him as much as possible. I bring my hand up his jaw and cup his face, stroking my thumb against the skin that’s starting to get a bit prickly with stubble.

“And you’re going to need to wake up and get your hair cut. If you’re asleep for too long, it’ll grow and then you’ll look like your father,” I tell him. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not attracted to men with hair that length. I think it looks utterly ridiculous, so don’t plan on ever having a ponytail.”

Harry re-enters the room with a Healer. “Miss Granger, I’m going to give you a Sleeping Draught. Do you want to move into your own bed? I can have one brought in.”

I shake my head. “No. I want to stay with him if that’s okay.”

“We may have to levitate you out of the way if something goes wrong,” he tells me. 

Nodding in understanding, I say, “That’s fine.”

He hands me a potion that looks like the night sky. It’s dark blue and nearly twinkles. I drink it and lay back, getting comfortable next to Draco and settling in for some sleep.

* * *

  
  
  


**Draco**

* * *

When I wake up, my head is pounding and my arm feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. I immediately know that something went wrong at the match. Honestly, I can’t even remember who won.

Although my eyes haven’t opened yet, I know Granger is snuggled into my side. I can smell her shampoo and feel her tits pressing against my arm, her fingers woven between mine. I turn my head and press my lips to the top of her head, happy she’s here with me and that she’s actually resting. I’m surprised she wasn’t up all night worrying over me.

“Malfoy?” Potter says quietly, and I force my eyes to open. “Good, you’re with us. How do you feel?”

  
“Like I fought a centaur and lost.”

He chuckles and Granger stirs, nuzzling against my chest. I hold my breath, waiting for her to fully wake, but she doesn’t. 

“Did I at least catch the Snitch?” I ask.

Potter grins. “You did. England won the World Cup.”

“Splendid,” I reply. “I need some water and I don’t want to disturb her.”

Conjuring a glass, he fills it and hands it to me. I drink it down and rinse the taste of blood from my mouth. My head is fucking killing me and my arm is even worse. 

“What happened?” I ask.

“Someone Stunned you after you caught the Snitch, and we didn’t see who it was. We tested as many wands as we could, but finding one Stunner in a crowd that large—” 

“—is like looking for a Bowtruckle in a pile of wand wood,” I interrupted. “How far did I fall?”

Potter shrugs. “Hundreds of feet. I slowed you down as best I could and there was a Cushioning Charm on the field, but you landed badly on your arm and leg. Let me get the Healers so they know you’re awake.”

I roll my eyes. Clearly Potter doesn’t know how magical hospitals work — they likely knew the second I woke up. As if on cue, a Healer bustles into the room and says, “Mr. Malfoy, how are you feeling this morning?”

Again, I run through all my aches and pains in a quiet tone, trying not to wake Granger. As I talk, though, I hear her breath accelerating and feel her hips shifting. Potter and the Healer notice this, as well. I try to shift the arm between us, but I can’t free it. 

“She’s fast asleep,” I tell the Healer. “I can’t believe she hasn’t woken up at all through this conversation.”

“Sleeping Draught. She was having trouble calming down and she needed to rest. It’ll likely be a couple of hours before she wakes. Would you like us to move her?” 

I shake my head. “If I don’t have to move, she’s fine. I’ll wait for her to wake before I eat or anything like that.” Dropping another kiss on her head, I add, “I’m just thankful she’s here at all.”

Potter scoffs. “Like she’d be anywhere else after the week you’ve been through. You clearly don’t know Hermione all that well if you think she’d abandon you.”

“I _ don’t _ know her all that well, Potter. This is still new,” I say.

The Healer interrupts us, asking about my pain level and taking my arm out of the sling. I find out that they’d actually removed my bones, and I’m glad I hadn’t been awake to feel them regrowing or see my arm without them. My leg had been fractured and easily healed.

“And your brain function looks normal. The swelling is all the way down, so you should be fine,” she states. “All in all, you’re lucky there were so many quick-thinking witches and wizards around. Every charm performed helped to save your life.”

I look to Potter and then back at my little sugar quill and I smile. “Thank Merlin for new friends and falling in love.”

The Healer smiles back at me. “Just page us when she wakes and you’re ready to eat.”

As she leaves the room, Potter says, “I’m going to go and see if I can get any details about the attack. Like I said, it could’ve been anyone in the stadium, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t found the culprit. I don’t know if they tested everyone’s wands with_ Priori Incantatem _ or what.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” I murmur. “I don’t care if they ever figure it out. I’m alive, I won the World Cup, and I have Granger.”

“Hermione,” Potter corrects. “I think you’re on a first-name basis.” And then he smirks. “Or, better yet, your little _ sugar quill _.”

“Get the fuck out,” I say good-naturedly. “Go do your job. I want to go back to sleep.”

With that, I settle in, just holding Hermione and trying to drift back to sleep.

* * *

A few hours later, we’re woken by a shriek.

My eyes pop open and Granger jumps up.

“Draco!” I immediately recognise my mother’s shrill voice. “What is going on here? What happened?”

I see Hermione tugging the hem of her shirt down and smoothing her hair. Panic is rolling off of her in waves. 

“Can someone help me sit up?” I ask, and both my mother and Hermione move to do it. They look at each other, gauging the situation. My mother relents, letting Hermione do the honours of magically adjusting my bed.

“Good morning, Mother—”

“It’s nearly noon, Draco!”

Sighing, I say, “Okay. Good afternoon. How are you today?”

  
“How could you not have someone Floo call me, Draco?” she asks.

Granger interrupts. “Mrs. Malfoy, I should’ve done it. Draco was unconscious, but Harry thought Abbott would’ve taken care of it, and everything here was so—”

My mother glares at Hermione. “Weren’t _ you _ supposed to be protecting him? How did this happen?” Granger stands there in shocked silence, so my mother continues, “And why were you in my son’s hospital bed? Surely he would’ve been more comfortable without you.”

The disdain is clear in her voice and it’s obvious to me, even after a head injury, that this interaction will set the tone for my relationship with my Hermione. If I let my mother get away with treating her this way now, it will never change.

“Mother, she’s my girlfriend, and we were both knocked out with Sleeping Draught. I was perfectly comfortable and got plenty of rest,” I reply.

She purses her lips. “Girlfriend? As in not just a few dates for the cameras?”

“Exactly.”

Hermione steps forward and holds her hand out to my mother. “Mrs. Malfoy, I’m willing to let the past lie and start over if you are. I’m Hermione Granger.”

I can see the internal debate raging within her head. After a few seconds, she takes Hermione’s hand. “Please call me Narcissa, Hermione. It’s lovely to officially meet you.” And then her eyes turn to me. “Why haven’t I heard about this before now?”

Sighing, I say, “It’s brand new.”

“I’ll be going on the press tour with him,” Hermione chimes in and my heart soars. We haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet, but I’m obviously thrilled that she’s agreeing, that she wants to come along for the ride. “I wouldn’t want other witches to think he’s single, after all.”

An unfamiliar sound — a chuckle — comes out of my mother.

“Oh, Granger, are you _ jealous _?” 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she narrows her eyes. “Of course I’m not _ jealous _. Unless there is a reason for me to be.”

I shake my head. 

“So tell me what happened, Draco. All I know is what I read in the paper,” my mother says, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed.

I pat the space next to me on the bed and Hermione looks at my mother warily. “Granger, we’re nearly thirty. I think you can safely sit beside me on a bed fully clothed without it being scandalous.” She settles in and I wrap my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “I’m not sure of what happened exactly. Potter told me I was Stunned and fell a few hundred feet and hit the ground. I shattered my arm, fractured some other stuff, and had a head injury. Potter is going to get more information today.”

“It was terrifying,” Hermione comments. “I forgot that I could Apparate and started running down the stairs. Luckily, Marcus grabbed me and took me Side-Along.”

Holding my breath, I wait for my mother to make a comment about how Muggle-borns never think of magic first and choose to do everything the hard way, but it never comes.

“And then Harry had to help me over the barrier because the guards wouldn’t let me through. I showed them my credentials and everything. It was completely unacceptable and everyone knew I was part of Draco’s security team, and we’re going to have to revise the plans for events like this in Britain because—”

I squeeze her tighter, loving the way she’s just rambling to my mother. I’m not even listening to everything she’s saying, but her voice is going a mile a minute and it’s filled with passion. My mother listens and interjects a few times, and I barely contain my laughter when Granger answers her and then immediately flows back into her ramble.

Eventually, she realises how much she’s been talking and claps a hand over her mouth. “My gods, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me. That was so rude.”

We both laugh. “It was good to see you so animated,” my mother answers. “The women I usually spend time with have very few passion projects that will actually help the community.”

Hermione bites her lower lip, trying not to smile. I want to suck her lip into my mouth, press her down into the bed and snog her senseless, but that’s obviously not going to happen with my mother sitting a few feet away. And then my mother squashes all thoughts of kissing from my brain.

“Your father wanted to come, Draco, but he couldn’t get clearance to leave England. They were worried his presence would exacerbate the situation since people here take issue with… your past.”

I nod. “They were probably right. We’ll come to the Manor before we leave on the press tour. I’m sure he’s not happy.”

Her eyes shift to Hermione. “I don’t think he’ll care much, Draco. You know how focused he is on the business. I just wouldn’t expect overly enthusiastic joy or praise.” 

I snort a laugh. When has my father _ ever _ given me overly enthusiastic praise?

“I won’t be coming along to the Manor,” Hermione states. 

Quickly, I turn towards her. “Why not?”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot, and of course I am in this moment. 

“Because I really don’t think I could manage it,” she says softly. “It’s just something I don't want to confront right away, especially with your father there.”

My mother looks as guilty as I feel. “Sorry, bad question,” I respond. “Of course you don’t have to come along if you don’t want to.”

Giving me a sad smile, Hermione nods, and it hits me that we still have a lot of past history to work through over time. But it seems like we’re both willing, and that’s half the battle.

“Do you know how long you’ll be here, Draco?” my mother asks.

“They haven’t said yet. I’m hoping just a few more hours.”

Hermione moves towards the door. “I’ll go speak to the Healers and see what they think,” she says. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she’s left the room, my mother looks to me. “I’m positive I don’t have to tell you that your father will not react well when he finds out about this.”

“I know, but I really don’t care anymore, Mother. If he disinherits me, then so be it. I’m going to live the way I want to and I don’t need his Galleons,” I reply.

Tears well in her eyes. “I don’t think he’ll do that, Draco, and I certainly will put up a fight about it if he tries to. I want you to be happy, and if you think she does that for you—”

“She does,” I interrupt. “She’s smart and she challenges me and she doesn’t like me for my name or my vault. If anything, my name puts her off me.”

“Good. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy, Draco,” she says.

And I know she’s telling the truth — since the war, she’s basically said it to me over and over again. When I don’t reply, a comfortable silence settles over us, and I wait for Hermione to come back with news.

However, a Healer opens the door and starts fussing over me and I’m momentarily worried that she’s left me on my own, but then she re-enters the room and smiles at me. While the Healer tests my reflexes and talks to me, I can hear murmurs and I know my mother and Hermione are talking. I look over at them, trying to make sure things are going well, and by the expression on my mother’s face, it’s obvious they’re getting along just fine.

“Mr. Malfoy, I think you’ll be fine to leave today,” the Healer says, and I’m elated.

Clearing my throat, I ask, “Any restrictions?”

He shakes his head. “No, you seem to be fully recovered. We thought it would take longer for the swelling to go down, but it seems to have done so overnight. I’d like to see you wait a few days before traveling by Portkey or Apparating, though. If you continue to rest, I’m fine with releasing you. I’m sure you’ll be in good hands.”

_ Oh, I hope to be in more than just good hands… _

“When can I go?” I can hear the eagerness in my own voice.

He looks at the clock on the wall. “I think I can have your papers ready in about an hour. You might want to see if one of your companions can get you some clean clothes to put on, though.”

At his words, Granger pops up. “I’ll Floo back to the hotel and grab what you need. You finish visiting with your mother since she has a Portkey to catch this afternoon.”

Although it would’ve been nice to have my mother stay for more than a few hours, I’m excited that I’ll get to be alone with my little sugar quill tonight. I watch her bustle out the door, dark curls swaying in time with her hips, and my mind just runs away with me. I feel my lips part slightly and my breathing speed up.

“Draco, stop ogling that girl like you’re about to undress her in front of me!” my mother scolds.

Chuckling, I look away from the door and meet my mother’s eyes. “Sorry. It must be the head injury.”

  
And when I meet my mother’s eyes, they’re sparkling and filled with happiness in a way I’ve not seen in a long, long time.

* * *

When we step through the Floo and into our hotel suite, I nearly make Granger lose her balance when I tug her into my arms and start kissing her soundly. She moans against my mouth, devouring me like I’m devouring her, and my hands move down to her arse.

And then a throat clears.

“Potter,” I snarl. “Don’t you have literally anywhere else to be?”

He takes his glasses off and presses his fingers to his eyes. “I thought you might want to know about the attack,” he says, prompting Granger to pull away immediately and turn to face him.

“Who was it, Harry?” she asks.

Potter shrugs. “Some unknown Bulgarian who was pissed Malfoy caught the Snitch. It’s all really very anticlimactic. He wasn’t even associated with the group those bints in Ireland were a part of.”

I’m so bloody angry I can barely form words. “Fucking seriously? He thought it would be good fun to _ kill _ someone over Quidditch?”

“He’s apparently a big fan of Krum’s and was pretty well pissed. The other spectators in his section detained him, though,” he replies.

“Do you think he’s still in danger if we stay here?” Granger asks.

“I don’t think so. Everyone will assume that he’s still hospitalised I think.”

Granger nods. “Good. You can go then — get home to Ginny and James and all that. We’ll be fine on our own.”

“Hermione, are you sure? I don’t mind staying—”

“Go, Harry. I have a feeling we’re going to… celebrate,” she answers with a wink, and it’s so fucking sexy.

He summons his bag and mimes vomiting. “Never wink at me like that again, Hermione. You’re my sister. You don’t have any of the parts required for sex.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s just ridiculous. Of course I do.”

“Goodbye,” he says, and I wave, smirking at him.

“Thank you, Potter.”

He takes a Portkey out and taps it with his wand, and then he’s gone in a flash.

Again, I spin Granger around and kiss her. “You’re fucking evil,” I murmur against her lips. “I love it so much.”

Her breath hitches and her mouth opens, allowing my tongue access. She tastes like vanilla lip balm and spearmint toothpaste, and I can’t get enough of her. My hands move to her arse and I lift her, carrying her towards our bedroom in the suite. She pulls back, swatting at my chest.

“Draco! Put me down! You’re not supposed to overexert yourself!”

“Oh, sugar quill, I’m not overexerting anything.”

Stepping into our bedroom, I kick the door shut and press her against it, my hardening cock firmly against her centre. She squirms against me as she tries to stand on her own. I let her down but grab her wrists, pinning them above her head with one of my hands. The other snakes down to the button of her jeans, quickly releasing it and pulling the zip down.

My lips move from her mouth to her ear and down her neck. I suck on her skin as my hand works its way into her knickers, stroking her clit lightly, teasing her. Her hips buck forward and I smile, grazing her throat with my teeth afterward. Hermione is just as wound up as I am, and I’m willing to bet I can make her come in less than three minutes.

“Draco,” she breathes. “Don’t tease. I was so worried about you. I — I need this.”

“You were worried about me?” I ask, adding a little more force to the strokes between her thighs.

  
“I was. I hate that fucking sport so much. It’s dangerous and I—” her tirade is broken with a moan “—oh, gods, I thought you had died and I’d never be able to tell you—”

I still my fingers and pull back, meeting her eyes. “Tell me what?”

“I want to go with you,” she whispers. “I want to go on the tour. I’m not ready to be away from you.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

And those words are the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I kiss her again, inhaling every bit of air that she exhales, falling under her spell. 

After a minute, she turns her head and breaks the kiss, struggling against my hold. I release her wrists and she grabs handfuls of my t-shirt, somehow pulling me closer.

  
“That’s it? You’ve nothing to say?”

Levelling her with a heated stare, I reply, “I already know I’m in love with you, Granger. I can wait for you to catch up.” 

The look on her face is priceless.

Laughing, I move my fingers back further, dipping one inside of her and curling it the way she likes. I kiss her lips, swallowing the sweet sounds she’s making. Adding a second finger to her cunt, I break away from her mouth for a second. “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the way you’re so hot and wet and tight.”

“You just had your fingers inside of me yesterday,” she retorts.

My lips move back to her ear and I whisper, “Oh, I know. I’ve missed the feeling of you wrapped around my cock.”

She moans, and I speed up the gentle motion of my fingers, fucking her faster and rubbing my palm against her clit. I feel her flutter, and I know she’s teetering on the edge. I thrust my fingers deeper, curling and uncurling them, and she clenches and releases once.

I immediately stop, pulling away and moving my hands to my belt. Hermione understands my plan and wiggles out of her jeans, kicking them towards the bed before tugging off her shirt. I quickly unclasp her bra and remove it, my mouth swooping down to suck one of her nipples. Hard. She moans and her hands find their way to the hem of my t-shirt, yanking it up until it’s around my neck. I let go of her nipple and grab the shirt, tossing it aside.

When I lift her up and press her into the door, she wraps her legs around my waist, allowing me to penetrate her easily. We both groan in relief, happy to be joined in this way again. My hands grip her arse as my prick slides in and out of her, and her fingernails are biting into my shoulders.

“Harder,” she demands. “I’m so close. Please, fuck me harder.”

With no resistance at all, I obey her command, snapping my hips faster and giving her what she wants. When she squeezes my cock, trembling and screaming through her release, I nearly come, and that would’ve been much too quickly. I slow my movements and she doesn’t complain, still riding the wave of her orgasm. She’s kissing my neck and squeezing me with her thighs, pulling me closer to her.

When she comes down, she says, “Let’s move to the bed. This is probably a lot after your fall.”

Even though I feel perfectly fine, I follow her direction, setting her down on the mattress. There’s a slatted headboard and she crawls towards it, her arse and swollen cunt on full display. I just watch as her hands wrap around the slats and she braces herself, silently telling me what she wants — me, fucking her from behind. Somehow, we didn’t do this in London, always sticking to me on top or her on top or spooning.

I climb up behind her, kneeling between her parted thighs, and slip my fingers inside of her, showing her exactly the pace I’m going to set when I slide inside of her. She presses her arse back and starts moving with my hand, fucking my fingers like she’ll never have her pussy filled again. I pull them away, knowing she’s ready, that she’ll likely be just as enthusiastic when my cock is inside of her.

I’m rough with her, slamming into her and pushing her forward. She cries out and then braces herself more firmly, the muscles in her arms and shoulders flexing. Grabbing her hips, I start guiding her movement as I slowly pick up speed. In that moment, I realise we’d both been holding back a bit, reluctant to really give in to the fire that burned between us. This isn’t just sex — it’s pure, unadulterated fucking, and it appears that she loves it.

I think about the fantasy I had while wanking after the party earlier this week, my jersey covering her as I fucked her this way. I think about my bedroom at home, already furnished for two with a large women’s chest of drawers and a mirror above it, sitting across from my bed. I think of that, of fucking her this way and watching her face in the mirror, of winding her hair around my hand, pulling her head back so she has to watch too.

I groan, feeling myself rushing towards the finish line, my thoughts running wild. Sliding my hand around her hip, I find her clit and start flicking my finger over it. When she cries out, I feel the weird jolt we’d both felt in London again, like a static shock or magic arcing. I’m still slamming into her hard and I can't hold back anymore. 

After three more brutal thrusts, I bury myself inside her as deep as I possibly can. Granger’s pussy is pulsing around me, squeezing my dick, and it makes me come harder than I ever have before.

I feel her legs shaking and we both crumble, landing in a pile of limbs on the bed.

  
  


Hermione moves around, shifting until we’re comfortably spooning and she sighs contentedly.

“That was so good,” she says, pushing her arse back against me. “Why haven’t we done that before?” 

I roll her nipple with my fingers and then grope the full swell of her breast. She arches into me and moans. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to be like that,” I confess.

Laughing, she says, “I loved it. It was what I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh really?” I ask, pulling her closer again. “Well, I fantasised about fucking you like that while you’re wearing my jersey. And just now, I thought about doing it in my flat and making you watch in the mirror.”

“Yes,” she hisses. “I think I’d like that.”

_ Oh, she really is perfect for me. _

“Well, we’ll have a few days at home before the tour starts,” I say. “We can do anything you’d like, Granger.”

“Anything?” she asks.

Her tone makes me a bit hesitant, but I realise that if I can enjoy a week with her when my life is in danger, I’ll probably enjoy whatever she’s about to suggest.

“Anything.”

She rolls over to face me and her eyes are shimmering. “Well, I think I’d like to go to Harry and Ginny’s to see my godson and to the Burrow to see the Weasleys if we’re going to be gone awhile.”

I almost groan, but I hold it back. 

I love her. I will do anything for her, including braving the ginger clan and baby sick.

  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue will post this week, friends! Thank you for sticking with me through writer's block and all!


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to POV and time hop a bit. I'll keep it as clear as possible! =)

**Four Months Later**

**Hermione**

* * *

As soon as I wake up, my stomach turns and I jump out of bed, running for the bathroom. When I get there, I drop to my knees in front of the toilet and immediately start vomiting my brains out. I’ve never been so fucking thankful that I sleep with my hair tied back. The queasiness doesn’t abate after I’ve been sick, so I stay where I am. I flush the toilet and cast a Scourgify to clean it. I fold my arms on the seat and rest my head on them.

About twenty minutes later, I decide it’s probably safe to get up if I haven’t been sick again. I brush my teeth and make my way back into the bedroom, climbing into the bed and cuddling close to Draco again.

“Where’d you go?” he murmurs against my shoulder, dropping a kiss there the way he always does when he’s about to start seducing me.

The thought of getting fucked into the mattress makes me queasy again. The thought of all that movement… No. Not happening today.

I roll onto my back and look up at him. “I think I’ve got a stomach bug. You might want to keep your distance.”

His expression isn’t filled with disgust; all I can see is concern. “Oh, sugar quill, I’m so sorry,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. “You don’t feel feverish or anything.”

“Well, that’s something. At least I won’t be sweating or shivering,” I reply, my voice taking on a whiny tone.

He rolls me back to my side and spoons me again, his hand settling over my abdomen and rubbing small circles over it. “Don’t worry, Granger. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

  
  


The vomiting persists all week and I start to worry. Draco hovers, constantly asking me what I need, and I snap at him.

And then I cry because I’m being a horrible bitch and he’s only trying to help me.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, making me hate myself even more. “You’re not well, Hermione. I’m so glad we’re back in London in a few days so you can see your Healer.”

I miss three press events, and every single time Draco leaves without me I worry that someone else will catch his eye and I cry even more. While I know this is ridiculous — he’s told me he’s in love with me over and over — my mind won’t stop jumping to the worst-case scenario. 

When he gets back from his event in Milan, I attack him at the door, smashing my lips against his and loosening his tie. The whole time he’d been gone I’d been planning this, anticipating the pleasure I knew he’d bring me. I’m wet and needy and wearing nothing but a lacy bra and knicker set that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Oh, and it matches the colour of his new Quidditch robes. Draco is officially the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons for the upcoming season and will be residing in his London flat full time.

“Fuck, Granger,” he groans. “Let a bloke get in the door.”

His palms skim my body and grab my bare arsecheeks. My mouth moves down to his neck. 

“Someone’s feeling better,” he says, his voice laced with arousal. “I’ve missed you so much.”

I grow frustrated with his clothes, think to myself that I should just vanish them, and then they’re gone. “I’m sorry!” I blurt. “I didn’t mean to—”

He kisses me again, signalling how little he cares. His erection is straining towards me, desperate for my touch. When I grab it, he moans against my lips. “Bedroom, Granger,” he growls. “Let’s do this properly.”

Releasing him, I turn and start walking towards the bedroom. “Fuck,” I hear him mutter under his breath. When I look over my shoulder, I see his eyes are on my arse and legs. “You’re so sexy, sugar quill.”

I smirk to myself and crawl on the bed. Before I have a chance to turn over, he grabs my hips and holds me in place, his lips moving to my spine and kissing down along the curve of my arse, landing on my inner thigh and sucking hard. I cry out, feeling his tongue lick over the damp knickers before he sucks on the skin of my other thigh.

“You’re soaked for me,” he says, and I don’t answer. I know he’s right. “Do you want me to eat your cunt like this?”

As much as I want him to, I shake my head. I want to feel him inside of me — no foreplay, no teasing or waiting. 

“I need you,” I whine.

He gives in — gives me what I want — and lays on the bed. “I’m yours, Granger. Do whatever you’d like to me.”

I straddle him, pulling my knickers to the side and sinking down. We both groan when we connect, and Draco’s hands move to my waist, holding me in place. When I try to move, he grips me more firmly. 

“Wait. If you want this to last more than a minute, you need to slow down.”

His hands climb up my ribs, caressing my skin, and land on my breasts. His fingers slide into the flimsy cups, pulling them down and fully exposing me. When his palms graze my nipples, I feel a zap of sensation and my pussy clenches.

“Oh, Gods,” I moan. “It’s been so long. I’m so sensitive.”

He laughs. “It’s only been a week.”

“Touch me,” I plead. “Please, Draco.”

He moves his hips and I counter his motion, rocking against him when he’s deep inside of me. We continue this way — hands and gentle movements — until I’m panting for more, and then he sits up and sucks my nipple into his mouth. Hard. And it’s pain and pleasure all wrapped into one, making me see stars behind my eyelids, his constellation blinking back at me.

His climax immediately follows mine and he pulls me against his chest.

  
After a few minutes, he says, “Maybe I’ll have to deny you more often. I like your body this responsive.”

“I’m just glad the nausea’s gone,” I reply, and his hands stroke up and down my back.

“Get some rest. If you’re better, I want you to stay that way.”

* * *

The next morning, I make a mad dash for the toilet again and come to a horrifying realisation.

Overly sensitive nipples. Crying. Mood swings. Vomiting with no other symptoms. Accidental magic last night.

We’d been on the press tour for four months.

We’d been having sex at least once a day until the nausea kicked in.

I’d not stopped in any country to buy my potion.

I look down at my still-flat abdomen and burst into tears. I don’t need to see a Healer to figure out what’s going on with me. 

I already know.

* * *

  
  


When I sneak back into the bedroom, Draco is still sleeping. Slipping into a dressing gown, I move out to the main area of the suite and grab my wand and my BlackBerry. After I step out onto the balcony, I call Ginny. 

“Are you home yet?” she asks in lieu of a greeting.

I swallow hard, trying to control my voice. “I’m not yet. We’re coming home tomorrow.”

  
“I can’t wait to see you!” Ginny shrieks. “And Malfoy! Gods, Harry said you were so nauseating—”

  
“Speaking of nausea,” I interrupt. “Can you tell me about the charm to—”

“No!” she responds. “Hermione, you’re not—”

“I don’t bloody know! I think I am. I want to check before I panic even more,” I reply.

I hear her sigh, and then she explains what I have to do. I cast the charm on myself and, sure enough, a tiny light settles over my abdomen and starts pulsing.

“Fuck,” I whimper. “How could I have been so careless?”

“So you’re—”

  
“Pregnant. I’m pregnant, and he’s going to freak out,” I manage before I burst into tears.

“Is the light steady? Or flickering?” Ginny asks.

“Flickering,” I respond.

“So you’re at least seven weeks along. That’s the baby’s heartbeat,” she tells me. “I’m not trying to be insensitive, Hermione, but aren’t you on the potion?”

“I didn’t fill my prescription before I left and I forgot all about it,” I admit, my hand covering the small light. “Ginny, I told him he didn’t have to worry about getting me pregnant, that I had it covered.”

I can picture her standing in Grimmauld Place, trying to figure out what to say to me to calm me down.

I hear her take a deep breath. “Well, shit happens, Hermione. You’re pregnant. And if you want to keep this baby, then he can either get on board or fuck right off. Harry and I would help you raise him or her if you need us to. You know that.”

“I know. But things have been so good and now I’ve ruined everything—”

“Stop, Hermione. You haven’t ruined anything. You got caught up in the romance of travelling around the world and falling in love all at once. It could happen to anyone,” Ginny says. “Now, I want you to march into that bedroom and tell him exactly what’s going on. If he freaks out, call me back, and I’ll send Harry to get you straight away.”

  
“I’m not ready! I only just found out!” 

She laughs. “Babe, you’re never going to be ready for this. There is no right time or way. If you hide it, it’ll be worse when you actually do tell him.”

I think for a moment. “I know he’ll be upset either way.”

“Do you want to keep the baby, Hermione?” she asks.

I don’t even have to consider it. “Yes. It’s not how I planned things, but I’ve always wanted to be a mother.”

“Then tell him. If he’s not ready for it, better to deal with the heartbreak now,” she says, her voice soft and kind. “We’re here for you either way.”

Sighing, I agree with her and try to figure out how to tell him. After I hang up, I sit in one of the chairs on the balcony, my hands twisting together with nerves. I stare out over Milan, not really feeling the winter air. I should be cold, but I’m just numb to everything right now.

I have no idea how much time passes, but eventually, the door slides open and I hear Draco’s voice.  
  
“Hermione, what the fuck are you doing? It’s January and you’re barely dressed! How long have you been out here?”

A tear rolls down my cheek, and I turn to face him, my lips parting to speak. But nothing comes out.

Draco’s eyes roam over me and he lifts me out of the chair, bringing me inside and carrying me into the bedroom. He promptly covers me with the blankets and sheets and climbs in beside me, pulling me close. 

“Granger, you’re half frozen. We need to warm you up.” I start crying again and try to stifle the sounds. Draco adds, “Please, Hermione, tell me what’s wrong. What’s going on with you?”

I let go and cry harder, sobs racking through me as he holds me. I can’t help but think that once he knows what’s really going on, he probably won’t hold me like this anymore. He’ll think I did this on purpose, like he thought Pansy and Astoria were going to. 

“You’re scaring me,” he says, his lips against my ear. “Talk to me, sugar quill.”

“I c-can’t,” I stammer. “You’re going to h-hate me.”

He forces me to my back and smooths the errant hairs away from my face. “It’s not possible for me to hate you. I’m in love with you, remember?”

And my puffy eyes take in his expression, the way his face is filled with nothing but concern for me. His silver eyes are focused on me, examining everything they can easily see.

“Can you g-get my w-wand?” I sob.

He looks confused but heads back to the balcony, and I realise then that he’s still fully naked. I don’t know how I missed it before.

When he gets back into bed, he hands me my wand, and I sit up and pull the covers back, opening my robe. I look at him, an apology in my eyes, and cast the charm again. The little light flutters over my abdomen.

“I m-messed up,” I begin, but his eyes are fixated on the light. 

“Is that — are you…?” 

His hand settles on my stomach, and the light hovers above it, shifting to a light shade of pink. I gasp when it happens.

“You’re pregnant?” he asks, more steady this time.

I nod, tears escaping my eyes again. “I’m sorry—”

Cutting me off, he asks, “How? I thought you were on the potion, Hermione.”

He doesn’t sound angry, but he’s not happy, either. 

“I was due to take it a few weeks after we started the trip, and I forgot all about it. I swear, Draco, it wasn’t on purpose. I’m not trying to trap you—”

He silences me with a kiss. “I know, Hermione. I don’t think you’d ever do something like that to a bloke.” Pausing, he sighs and runs a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “It’s just… a lot to take in. We’re going to have a baby.”

“A daughter,” I say quietly.

His head snaps up. “How do you know?”

“Put your hand on my stomach again,” I say, and he does. “See? When your hand is there, it turns pink.”

“And that means it’s a girl?” he asks.

I shrug. “I’m not sure what else it would mean. I’m going to have to see a Healer when we get back to London to be sure, but—”

He kisses me again, moving his hand from my stomach to my shoulder and pushing me back to the bed. He climbs on top of me and settles between my legs, his lips moving to my ear. “A daughter. We’re going to have a daughter,” he whispers. “The first female Malfoy in a whole lot of generations.”

My heart swells and then cracks. I force my words out. “The first half-blood Malfoy.”

Pulling back, he says, “Don’t call her that, Hermione. Do you think I care? Do you think it makes me love her — or you — any less?” The rage I was expecting is seeping into his voice now. “Of course I knew when we had children that they’d be half-blood, and that didn’t matter to me at all.”

I grab his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I had to — I wanted to know if it bothered you.”

“If it mattered, I wouldn’t be with you,” he says, and he’s still angry. “I didn’t think the past was a problem for us anymore. Why do you—”

Pulling him down, I kiss him softly. “It’s not a problem, but this was unplanned. Unexpected. I just…” I pause. “It would’ve been different if we were married. Or trying to get pregnant. I’d feel more sure then.”

“You want to get married, Granger?” he asks. 

My heart stops. I don’t know how to respond. 

“Because I’ll marry you today if that’s what you want. Or we can wait until the baby comes, or five years. It’s whatever you want, sugar quill.” Draco’s lips move gently against mine for a moment. “But, one day, you _ will _be my wife. You will be a Malfoy. That’s not negotiable.”

And then he kisses me hard, stealing the small amount of breath I’d managed to hold onto.

* * *

**Draco**

* * *

As soon as we get back to London, I take Hermione to St. Mungo’s. I need more details. I need to know when this baby — potentially my daughter — is going to be here. I hold onto Hermione like she could slip away at any time, probably because I’m still afraid that she will. 

I didn’t want things to happen this way — this soon, in this order — but when something’s meant to be, it’ll be. I’ve learned that now.

When we step into the Healer’s office, I see a man sitting behind a desk, and I’m horrified.

“Granger, you didn’t tell me your Healer was a bloke,” I hiss. 

She rolls her eyes at me, and I want to smack her arse. “He’s a medical professional, Draco. Calm down.”

“But when you have the baby—”

“It won’t be anything I haven’t seen before, Mr. Malfoy,” the Healer interrupts. “I’ve been a Healer for over ten years. I’ve not yet stolen a pregnant woman away from her partner.”

I glare at him.

“Draco, seriously? Do you want to find out about this baby or not?” Hermione says.

I guide her to the chair across from the Healer’s desk, swallowing everything else I want to say to the smarmy bloke. I don’t want his hands anywhere near Granger’s… lady parts. 

I can’t bring myself to say pussy or cunt or anything like that in this context.

“So, you’re expecting,” he says, and Hermione nods. “Lovely. How far along are you?”

I watch as she blushes. “I’m not exactly sure. At least seven weeks since the charm revealed a heartbeat.”

“Not to worry. We’ll sort you out, Ms. Granger.”

And I hate the way he says her name, like he’s pointing out that she’s still available even though I’m sitting right beside her.

The Healer stands and leads us to a new room. Granger hops up on the exam table and he whips his wand out. “Can you lift your shirt up?” 

I hold back my protest, knowing that he’ll be helping to bring our baby into the world down the line.

I watch as he waves his wand over her abdomen, creating some sort of image above her. “Mr. Malfoy, would you like to see your baby?” 

“Of course,” I reply, and he levitates the image. 

I see a tiny blob that’s vaguely connected to another blob. He runs his wand over her again, and this time, I can see what looks like little arms and legs starting to grow.

I want to cry.

“Based on these scans, Ms. Granger, I’d say you’re roughly nine or ten weeks along,” he explains. “That means you’re likely due in late July.”

“I wanted to ask you something,” Granger begins. “I did the charm at home, and when Draco put his hand in the light, it turned pink. Does that mean the baby is a girl?”

The Healer shakes his head. “It just means he’s the father.”

I swallow hard. I’d gotten so excited, imagining a little girl with curly hair somewhere between Malfoy blonde and brunette.

“I can perform a different charm to tell you the gender if you’d like,” he offers.

Granger looks to me and I know she can see the emotions in my eyes, even if my face is stoic. “What do you think?” she asks.

I nod. “I’d like to know now.”

She smiles and turns to the Healer. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Again, his wand moves over her and after a few seconds, the tip of it glows pink, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

A girl.

While I’d be happy with a healthy baby either way, the idea of this little girl has settled into my heart, and I’m happy that I don’t have to readjust.

“Well, it looks like you _ are _ having a girl!” he says exuberantly, and Hermione smiles.

“Excellent. Is there anything else I should know?” she asks eagerly.

The Healer lists off vitamins and dietary concerns, and gives her the title of a book he recommends and sets up her next appointment. “Do you have any concerns?”

Hermione explains her nausea and vomiting and he gives her a supply of potions.

“These should take care of that. I wouldn’t want you to end up sick or dehydrated.” After a moment, he smirks and adds, “And try to stay out of danger, Ms. Granger. I know that’s difficult for you, but remember that it’s not only you now. You’ve got a baby inside you.”

His words make me freeze. He’s absolutely right. My daughter is growing inside of a woman who runs headfirst into danger on a scarily regular basis.

“I will,” she says. “It’ll be only office work and finishing my masteries from now until the baby is born.”

* * *

As we walk the red carpet for the Quidditch World Cup Winners’ party, I’m struck by the way Granger is still trying to guard me. She stands in front of me at every opportunity, even though we’re at home and it’s much more important for her to be safe now.

I keep trying to switch places with her, but she won’t have it.

“Draco, if you’re in no danger, then it doesn’t matter what bloody side I’m walking on!” she complains. “Let’s get through these photos and get inside!”

“Ms. Granger! How has it been guarding the Dragon?” a reporter shouts.

In response, Hermione laughs. “He’s a right pain in the arse, but it worked out quite well. I’m sure you know that already.”

And she turns and kisses me, prompting flashes, cheers, and shouted questions. We ignore it all, just kissing and then waving when we part, proceeding into the party.

When we walk through the door, we’re greeted by the Potters and Blaise. Everyone keeps handing Hermione champagne, and Ginny looks at her sympathetically when she refuses. Potter looks green around the gills, and Blaise raises an eyebrow at me. I nod, signalling to him that there is a reason for her abstinence. He’s smart enough to keep quiet.

The night is filled with dinner and dancing, an official presentation of the World Cup, and speeches from Abbott and some of my teammates. Much to my surprise, I’m given the honour of MVP, even though I played like shite in Ireland.

When I step up to the podium, I clear my throat. “Thank you. It’s been such an honour to spend the past seven years playing Quidditch on the English National Team. As you all know, I was lost after the war, and I was so grateful to be given the opportunity to try out and then play with the team. It gave me the distance I needed from things here in England, and I will be forever in Abbott’s debt.” The crowd chuckles when I grin at my coach. “This year was special for so many reasons. I knew going into the season that it would be my last playing on the international team—”

Reporters start shouting and I hold up my hand, asking them for silence. “I will answer all your questions after I get this out. Please wait until then.” Once things have quieted down, I continue. “Like I said, this year was my last on the international team, and it honestly worked out wonderfully. As you may or may not know, a certain Golden Girl has bewitched me over the course of the World Cup, and I’m ready to settle down at home again. That being said, I’m thrilled to announce that I’ll be playing Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons starting in a few weeks.”

Again, I’m flooded with questions and I answer as many as I can. After ten minutes I cut it off, making my way back to Hermione. The cameras capture us kissing again, her hand on my jaw and love in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you,” she says. “That was brilliant. You handled all of the reporters so well.”

“Draco.” 

At the sound of my name in my father’s voice, I stiffen, and Hermione pushes my hair out of my face. She stands before I do, readily meeting my father’s gaze.

  
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” she greets.

I watch as they size each other up. It’s clear my father was expecting Granger to ignore his presence, but she’s eagerly meeting his challenge, and he doesn’t know what to make of her.

“Ms. Granger. How _ lovely _ to see you,” he drawls.

Hermione’s fingers lace through mine and I find my voice. “Father, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Yes, well, I couldn’t miss your party,” he begins. “Though I have to admit, I thought you’d finally be retiring from this silly game to take over the company.”

When Hermione’s magic dances along my palm, I squeeze her hand, trying to tell her that I’ll handle him. “Well, as I told you before, I’m not interested in running the company, Father. I’m perfectly fine making my own way.”

“Obviously. You know, I had lined up a contract with the Greengrasses—”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m not interested. In case you haven’t noticed—” I raise our joined hands, kissing the back of Hermione’s “—I’m with Hermione, and that won’t be changing anytime soon.”

Clenching his jaw, he steps closer so he can speak more quietly. “This… dalliance is unbecoming.”

“This is not a dalliance,” I hiss. And even though I know it’s much too soon to tell, I add, “She’s carrying your grandchild, Father, so either get on board or disinherit me.”

Hermione quickly casts a _ Muffliato. _

My father pulls back and looks down at Hermione’s flat stomach. “Is that so, Draco? How careless of you — letting someone like her trap you into a marriage.”

  
“I’ve not said anything about marriage,” Hermione responds. “We’re together. We’re having a baby. We don’t have to get married.”

When I see the look on his face, I want to laugh. Granger’s managed to stun him silent.

“Right. Father, feel free to arrange a time to come by the flat with Mother. We can talk this through somewhere without reporters.”

With that, I loop my arm around Granger’s waist and guide her to the dance floor, eager to focus on her and her alone.

* * *

**Six months later…**

“I fucking hate you, Malfoy!” Hermione screams. “I had the right idea in third year when I punched you in the face.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I let her berate me and squeeze my hand. After all, I’m sure worse things have been said during childbirth.

The fucking male Healer is sitting between her parted thighs, waiting for our daughter to make an appearance. After reading books that detailed what could happen during a birth, I had decided to stay firmly by Hermione’s side. There are just some things a bloke doesn’t need to see.

“Okay, Hermione. I think one more good push should do it. Are you ready to meet your daughter?” he says.

She glares at him. “What kind of fucking question is that?! Of course I want to meet her! Do you think I’m doing this for nothing?”

I can see that he wants to laugh, but he manages to hold it back. “Okay. It’s time. Push.”

Hermione looks up at me. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Rolling my eyes at her, I reply, “Sugar quill, you can do anything you set your mind to. You read the books and took the birthing classes and I’m right here. Squeeze my hand, punch me, do whatever you need to do. Just push once more and she’ll be here.”

She takes a deep breath. “And you still love me?”

Immediately, I lean down and press a kiss to her sweaty forehead. “Of course I do. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”

Granger lets go of my hand and grips the bars on either side of her bed. Her face gets even more red as she pushes and I can hear the Healer encouraging her. After another minute, he says, “And you’re all done, Mrs. Malfoy!”

A second later, a cry fills the room and I turn towards the sound. My daughter is coated in a whole lot of disgusting gunk I could’ve lived without seeing, but she’s perfect. Her little arms and legs are moving around and I can tell her hair is more like mine than her mother’s.

The Healer gets her cleaned up, swaddles her, and then brings her to Hermione. When she takes our baby for the first time, I can feel my eyes welling up. We may have gotten pregnant by accident — way too soon — but this moment is perfect, just like our quiet wedding at the Ministry had been. Just the two of us in our bubble, our life changing in an instant.

“Hi there,” Hermione coos. “Oh, you have your Daddy’s hair, beautiful girl.” Her palm smooths over the baby’s head and then she looks up at me. “She’s so tiny and perfect.”

Swallowing hard, I nod. “She is.”

“You’re the biggest softie I’ve ever met in my life, Draco Malfoy,” she says. “Come closer. Meet your daughter.”

Leaning down, I kiss Granger’s forehead again and then do the same with my daughter. “Hello, Carina. It’s wonderful to finally see you.”

The baby slumbers on as the Healers finish up with Hermione. She scoots over in the bed when she can and pats the space beside her. I carefully climb in and we both sit there, watching our daughter sleep.

While I just relax there, I think about how all this came to be. A threat to my life gave me a new life — one I’d never dreamt of.

* * *

**Three years later**

**Hermione**

* * *

As I sit in my living room, I find myself thinking back to the first time I entered this penthouse flat, expecting to meet the same tosser I’d known at Hogwarts all over again. I can’t help but smile — while he’d still been cocky, his views on so many things had changed, and my life had changed for the better as soon as he’d re-entered it.

I can hear Draco in the other room, trying to get Carina ready. At three years old, she’s already a handful. Mostly because she’s her daddy’s little princess and he’s spoiled her rotten. Since the day she was born, she’s had Draco wrapped around her tiny finger.

“But I want to wear Aunt Ginny’s shirt!” she protests.

I can imagine the look on Draco’s face. “Carina, you can’t wear that one today. We all have to be Malfoys.”

  
“I don’t want to match Callie!”

I let out a sigh. Carina is much like I imagine Draco would’ve been like as a child if he’d had a sibling — jealous and prone to tantrums.

“Okay, love. Why don’t you wear the red one and I’ll put Callie in the gold?” Draco says, trying to compromise with a toddler.

A few moments later, Carina runs out, her blonde curls bouncing behind her. “Mum! What colour do you have?”

“Red,” I answer, and she squeals in delight.

“Me too!”

Draco follows her a moment later, holding Callie against his hip. “And Callie and I have gold. We don’t want to wear red like Gryffindors, do we?”

Callie nods and then shakes her head, unsure of the appropriate response. She’s not even two years old yet, so she just goes along with whatever we say.

After we got through the first year with Carina, Draco had asked me if I’d be willing to have another baby, telling me that he didn’t want our daughter to grow up alone like we both had. I’d agreed and we decided to start trying for baby Malfoy number two. I’d thought it would take a few months — or even a year — but we apparently have crazy baby-making skills.

Or we have so much sex that the chance of conceiving is much higher than usual.

Either way, I’d gotten pregnant the first month we’d been officially trying, and Callie had arrived in April.

Since we’d fallen together during that World Cup, I’ve finished my masteries and kept up with all my security training. I’ve designed wards for nearly every building or stadium in wizarding Britain. 

Draco never put his career in front of mine or expected me to put my dreams on hold to be a stay-at-home parent. 

As Draco approaches me, I smile, even though he just made a jab at my house. 

“Gold is also a Gryffindor colour,” I remind him.

“Oh, I’m aware,” he replies, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “Are you ready to go?”

I pull my hair up into a ponytail and secure it with an elastic. “I think so. What about you? Are you ready to announce to everyone that you’re the new Seeker for Puddlemere United?”

Draco sighs. “I don’t know why I let Wood talk me into changing teams. It’s not like it changes my job any.”

“Half your World Cup team plays for Puddlemere now! Admit it — you missed them.”

Carina interrupts us. “Mum! Will Aunt Ginny be there?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Baby Lily will be coming any day now. She’s probably very tired.”

Pouting, she looks to Draco. “Can you make her come? I want to see James and Albus.”

He shakes his head at her. “No, but your grandmother and grandfather will be there. I’m sure they’ll be very excited to see you.” Once Carina starts babbling about Lucius and Narcissa, Draco leans in to whisper in my ear. “We’ll have to even the score, you know.”

When I realise what he means, my jaw drops and I gape at him, but it’s all for show. I’m not surprised that he wants another child; the man was born to be a father. “This isn’t a competition or a Quidditch match!”

A laugh escapes his lips. “But it’s so fun to make babies with you, sugar quill. You know it brings you lots of _ pleasure _.”

Settling a hand over my stomach, I say, “Well, you’re generous with the _ pleasure _ either way.” 

His pout matches Carina’s and I nearly cave. “Come on, Granger,” he says in his most seductive tone. “You know you enjoy the process.”

I refuse to agree; his ego is big enough to fill a Quidditch stadium. “For Godric’s sake! You made me change my name, Malfoy, and you still insist—”

“It’s just a habit. I can’t stop calling you Granger.”

I stand on my tiptoes and whisper in his ear. “Maybe you need a reminder. I’m wearing a shirt that says Malfoy. Perhaps I could leave it on later while you make me scream it.”

When I pull back, I look him up and down suggestively, eye-fucking him the way he’d accused me of that first day in this flat.

“That would definitely help me to remember, I think,” he readily agrees.

Smirking at him, I grab Carina’s hand. “I thought it might.” After a moment, I add, “And, if you’re lucky, I’ll forego my potion one of these days. You’ll just have to keep bringing me that _ pleasure _ every time I _ ride the dragon _.” 

I can see the love, lust, and hope burning in his eyes and, even after four years, I still can’t believe it’s directed at me. 

This life with Draco isn’t one I’d ever imagined, but that makes it even more wonderful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming along on this journey with me! And to coyg_81 for the pretty in the middle of this story! 
> 
> It definitely took a lot longer than I originally intended, but I'm happy I didn't try to force it while I was blocked.
> 
> Just a couple of things...  
My new WIP, The Memory of You, is posting on Saturdays, so if you're into heavy angst and Obliviate fics, check it out. All triggers/issues are tagged, and feel free to reach out to me on Tumblr (@potionchemist) or on Facebook (K Potion Chemist) if you have any questions at all!
> 
> Also, I'm nominated for a few things in the Granger Enchanted Survivors Facebook group. Every Part of Me is nominated for Best Smut and Best Relationship Development, and I'm nominated for Favourite New Author. I want to thank anyone who nominated me and/or voted for me in the first round. We're onto round two now and I'm still kicking around in those categories! There are great stories and authors nominated in all of the categories, so I'm truly honoured.


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